The Safe House
by r4ven3
Summary: This is an AU story, set early in S9, providing some alternative outcomes. It is part plotty nonsense, and part Harry & Ruth. Ros and Lucas also feature, as does Tariq. Now 10 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"They've gone offline," she said, still staring at a blank screen, where only moments before the screen had been divided into six panels, each an image from three different locations. "Lucas? What does that mean?"

Lucas noticed the dark circles under Ruth's eyes, her panic being tempered by weariness. They'd been in the uninspiring safe house for well over twenty hours without a break, and were still no closer to discovering where the raid – or the attack, or the assassination - was to take place. He sighed heavily, passing a large hand down over his face, and grasping his jaw, his palm covering his mouth. It was a gesture he used when he needed to think, but didn't know where to begin.

"I think you know what it means, Ruth."

Ruth did. It meant their surveillance had been discovered, and had been electronically blocked. At worst it could mean that there was a mole in MI5, and possibly even in Section D. At best they were being faced by an opposition unknown to them.

"It means you'll have to wake Harry."

" _Me_?"

"Who else?"

"Would that be … wise?"

Lucas couldn't contain his grin. Ruth and Harry were so obvious. They acted like they were fooling everyone into believing they were just colleagues. They'd not fooled him for a minute. He and Ros sometimes talked about it … not often, because they had so little time together themselves, but in the weeks before the bombing Ros had been known to begin a sentence with: _Did you notice those two today?_ She'd never needed to explain who it was she'd meant.  
"I'd rather were he to get mad, he'd be mad at you," Ruth mumbled.

"Well, Ruth, it's like this. I'd prefer were Harry to not be mad at all, and the only way to ensure a calm response from Harry is to send you to wake him, after all …"

"After all what?"

"He's used to waking to see your face next to him."

Lucas spoke the words very, very quietly, but distinctly, so that Ruth heard every syllable – all twelve of them. So they knew. The cat was out of the bag, and once out of the bag, it could never again be recaptured and stuffed back inside the bag. Lucas watched while Ruth struggled with her feelings of confusion and embarrassment. He knew she and Harry were each very private people, and together they valued their privacy even more. He understood that. He also thought it naïve and unnecessary. Just because a few of their closest colleagues knew they were in a relationship of intimacy, the world as they knew it was not about to change were they all to know about them.

"Who else knows?" Ruth said at last, and he noticed the hard set of her jaw, and the fire in her eyes.

"Well … most of us know. All senior Grid personnel – me, Ros, Tariq, Dimitri -"

" _Dimitri_? He's a massive gossip."

"Ruth … Dimitri is the one who regularly insists we all leave you and Harry alone to get on with it."

As soon as the words `get on with it' had left his mouth, Lucas closed his eyes, and waited for the outburst from Ruth. Nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, Ruth was on her feet and standing in front of him, looking down at him.

"Just don't tell Harry … that you know … all right?"

"Ruth, he already knows … that we know."

Ruth turned away for a moment, and he saw her struggling with that information. "All right," she said, "that can wait. Harry needs to know about this … this glitch."

Ruth headed straight up the stairs, and Lucas breathed out heavily, and then looked back at his own monitor. Unfortunately, nothing had changed.

* * *

Ruth opened the door to the upstairs bedroom, and slid quietly inside, pulling the door closed behind her. Very carefully she sat on the side of the double bed, and waited. The room was very dark, and it took a few minutes for her night vision to kick in. Harry was lying on his side under the duvet, facing away from her. The only sound she heard was his soft and regular breathing. She loved that sound. Harry's steady breathing told her that no matter what was happening in the world outside that room, all was well in her own world. She could sit there for the remainder of the night, listening to him breathing, or she could get on with why she was there.

"Harry," she said quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder. He kept breathing rhythmically, breathing out through his nose. "Harry … wake up."

He'd been out on his feet at midnight, having not slept the night previously, when Lucas had suggested he catch a few hours sleep. Ruth was tempted to leave him be, and to sort out the surveillance problems with just Lucas and Tariq, but Lucas knew something she'd not been privy to, and Harry's input was necessary. Ruth leaned closer to Harry's sleeping form, and turned her body so that she leaned most of her weight on her elbow. She squeezed his arm, and spoke close to his ear, "Harry, please wake up," and then she placed her lips against his ear. Her last gesture had him turning to face her, his eyes wide.

"Ruth? What's wrong?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"Lucas is not in the habit of kissing me on my ear, or anywhere else."

Smiling into his eyes, softened by sleep, Ruth found herself rubbing the palm of her hand up and down his upper arm, which was covered by the sleeve of his white undershirt. She wanted to find out for herself what he was wearing on the lower part of his body, but this wasn't the time, and nor was it the place. Instead, she removed her hand from his arm, and sat up. Harry's response was to reach out a hand to her, touching her cheek lightly with his knuckles. For a moment they held one another's eyes, and they each read the `if only' in the eyes of the other.

"It's the surveillance. We've been sprung, and the connection has been lost. We have no vision at all from either property."

"When did this happen?"

"Around ten minutes ago."

Harry turned from her and grabbed his watch from the bedside table. "Mmm … 3.27," he said, almost to himself. "That means it was around 3.15 when access was blocked."

Ruth nodded.

"What about Tariq? Does he know?"

"Just over an hour ago Lucas suggested he get some sleep, so … I'm supposing he doesn't."

Harry sat on the far side of the bed, rubbing his palms up and down his face in an effort to wake himself. "I could have done with another hour or two of sleep."

"I know. I'm sorry I had to wake you. It's just that Lucas and I had no contingency plan for this." For the first time since Harry had sat on the edge of the bed, Ruth noticed he was wearing black trunks. She smiled to herself, remembering the first time they'd undressed one another. Had it only been six weeks ago? They'd both been so terribly nervous, trying hard to not be caught ogling the other as garments were discarded, one by one. When he removed his hands from his face, he turned to face her, his expression unreadable. In the space of only a few seconds he'd gone from being her lover to her section head.

"Perhaps I should have told you this before I came upstairs," Harry said quietly, barely holding eye contact with her, "but I was hoping it would be a straight forward op, with no necessity for engaging the back up plan."

"There's a back up plan?"

Harry nodded, looking her in the eye, his own eyes soft and gentle. "I don't know if there's urgency, but we have to act as though there is. We've never been certain about the identity of the target."

"And here was I believing we have no idea who it is has created the threat."

"That too," Harry said as he stood and walked to the chair where he'd thrown his clothes. He pushed his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, and drew out a slip of paper. "With the kind of surveillance we're using, any interference can only be coming from close by. I chose this particular safe house for a reason."

"Because it's a bit of a dump and no-one in their right mind would be using it?"

"No, it's because of its location. On this slip of paper is an address of a property less than half a mile from here. It's the proximity of this property which had us choosing this particular safe house."

He handed the paper to Ruth, and when she read the address, her eyes widened, and she took in an audible breath. "But … how? How is … Harry, what's going on?"

Harry had already pulled on his socks, and was buttoning his trousers. "Ring Tariq. He knows what to do."

Ruth turned towards the door, the slip of paper in her hand. Her overriding feeling was one of hurt. Harry had kept her out of the loop. He never did that. As well as being his lover in their private lives, she was his confidante at work, so why had he not told her everything?

"Ruth," he said, as she opened the door, and turned to face him as he spoke. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you of this. I thought it best you didn't know .. for your own safety. There was no knowing this would happen. It's … unexpected. The backup plan was only formed on the off chance …"

Ruth stood for a moment, internally debating as to whether this was the right time and place to address her need - or not – of his protection. She decided that the discussion could wait.

Once downstairs Ruth turned on the kettle, and while waiting for the water to boil, she rang Tariq. He had only managed to sleep for an hour, and while she'd been upstairs with Harry, he had rung Lucas. When she read him the address, all he said was, `Just as I thought.' She wanted to ask him what it meant, but this wasn't the time. By the time she'd made three cups of coffee and carried them into the living room, Harry was downstairs, talking to Lucas. Both men turned as she entered the room with the tray, and both thanked her for the coffee. They each sipped their drinks in silence, and it was Ruth who spoke first.

"Are you going to tell me, or do I need to get online and examine the chatter?"

Ruth noticed Lucas avert his eyes, and concentrate once more on the screen of his laptop. She noticed Harry's chest lift as he sighed heavily. Ruth was sure she could read embarrassment on his face.

"By the time I finish telling you the whole story as we know it, it may all be over."

"Nicholas Blake has been in on this?"

"He … may have been the brains behind it, or ..." Harry glanced at Lucas, but seeing him busy, he turned back to Ruth. "The electronic blocking had to have come from his house."

" _He_ did this?"

Again Harry sighed, and he sat on the wide green sofa, and patted the seat beside him, an invitation to Ruth to sit beside him. She remained where she was, in the middle of the living room, with Harry directly in front of her, and Lucas to her right, but still in her peripheral vision. For once in her life, Ruth had the height advantage, and she wasn't about to give it up so that Harry could feel better about his decision to leave her out of the planning of the operation. She stared at Harry. She knew that his operational decisions were his business, but she couldn't help the sharp hurt and the irritation she felt. Suddenly Lucas spoke up, his eyes still on the monitor.

"The electronic signal is coming from the basement in his house, which doesn't necessarily mean he is the one doing it. Someone may have set something up in his basement, and is controlling it remotely from elsewhere." Lucas looked up and held Ruth's eyes. "Tariq's job is now to identify the source of the blocking signal. Even though it appears to come from the former Home Secretary's residence, it is probably originating elsewhere in the Greater London area."

Ruth hesitated, taking it all in. "So ….. either Nicholas Blake is behind this, or perhaps he is the target." Suddenly the penny dropped, and Ruth looked right at Harry. "Why aren't you getting him out of there?"

"My belief all along has been that he is safer in his own home than anywhere else. He has his own security detail. I had already contacted the chief of CO19, authorising Tariq to give the call for them to act."

"Act? How?"

"We need them to be close by, ready to act when – and if – we need them. Tariq has the software which we hadn't the time to set up here. Besides, he's the only one who knows how to use it. He can't know who the target is until he traces the electronic signal. Right now, my bet is that it's Blake."

"There's only two and a half hours to go until daylight," Lucas said, somewhat unnecessarily.

No matter from which direction she looked at it, Ruth was still annoyed … annoyed with Harry, annoyed with the boys' club that MI5 so often could be, and annoyed with herself for caring as deeply as she did for this enigmatic man who, as of fifteen minutes ago, was even more enigmatic.

"Has Blake's security been checked? Could one of them be …?"

"Tariq is running that as we speak, Ruth," Lucas said quietly, lifting his eyes from the monitor to watch her.

Ruth suddenly saw a new set of possibilities. "Harry …" she said softly, watching him lift his eyes to hers, "could this be an elaborate scheme by Nicholas Blake to take his own life, while at the same time implicating whoever it is targeting him?"

Lucas turned in his chair, and faced Harry. "Harry," he said, his face serious, his voice deepening, "I think we should get over there … now."

Harry only took a moment of thinking time before he stood, his back straight. "I think you're right," he said, heading into the kitchen.

When Harry returned to the living room, he was tucking his Glock pistol into the holster under his jacket. "I'll meet you downstairs," he said to Lucas, who quickly took the hint, and left the flat. "Ruth, I'm sorry, but this has to be done."

"Only a minute ago, you said that Tariq was calling CO19. Which is it?"

"Lucas and I will be working in tandem with CO19. I think our esteemed former HS has been up to something, and I'd quite like to find out before he goes out in a blaze of glory, with his reputation intact."

"What reputation? Harry – what are you not telling me?"

Harry ignored her questions. "I have to be there to prevent loss of life, and that includes his. You do understand … don't you?"

Ruth nodded. "It doesn't mean that I have to like it. Just … don't get shot." With her hand Ruth brushed her hair away from her face in a gesture reminiscent of a small girl.

By this time they were standing quite close to one another, but not quite touching. The moment was broken by the ringtone of Harry's phone, which he grabbed from the pocket of his jacket.

"Yes?" he snapped. "Very well. I'm on my way." He closed the phone, and when he looked at Ruth his eyes were soft and sad. "I'll be back soon," he said very quietly, before he leaned into her, and gave her a brief kiss on her lips. And then he was through the door, and the flat was again empty and quiet.

"You'd better be," Ruth said into the silence, before she headed back to her own computer terminal.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N : A big thank you to those who read and reviewed the first chapter.  
**_

 _ **Please excuse my dodgy technological explanations throughout this fic. Most of it is based on available technology, but I just made up the details. Also a bad language alert for this chapter, and a couple of future chapters.**_

* * *

Less than five minutes after Harry had left the flat, Ruth received a phone call from Tariq.

"I've tried to intercept the electronic signal from the basement of the Home Secretary's home, but it's not responding, which means that it's a bounced signal which originates elsewhere, probably in the Greater London area. I can look into that later. In the meantime I've been looking into Blake's security detail."

What he told her had Ruth sitting up straight in her chair. "Have you rung Harry or Lucas with this information?" she asked.

"I rang them first. I need you to check my analysis, Ruth. Matthew Rex Carstairs. His application to join the Home Secretary's security team was turned down when he first applied eighteen months ago."

"Date of birth?"

"January 7th, 1971."

"Do his birth details check out?"

"They do, but they would were he to have created his identity from a genuine birth certificate."

"Have you checked for a possible date of death?"

"Not yet. That's on my To-Do list."

"I take it you've sent Lucas a picture."

"I have, and one to Harry as well."

For a moment, Ruth thought of asking Tariq to not involve Harry, but then realised that just because she was afraid for Harry's safety, he would be more likely to resent any interference from her … just as she was unappreciative of his desire to protect her by leaving her out of the loop. So this was the downside of loving someone. When, almost ten weeks earlier, they had first begun seeing one another outside work, Ruth had been confronted by the enormity of her love for him, and his for her. It had taken her completely by surprise. There had been times when the responsibility of holding someone's delicate heart in her hands had left her feeling breathless and afraid. What if she clutched too tightly, or in a moment of inattention left him feeling cold and alone? At times Harry displayed a tsunami of responses – admiration, respect, love – which almost overpowered her. And then there were times when he held himself distant from her, even when in close physical proximity.

Ruth noticed Tariq wait before he continued speaking. "There is one other thing," he said, "and this may be a coincidence – or not."

"Go on."

"A Matthew Carstairs suicided after returning from Iraq in April 2006, just eight months prior to this particular Matthew Carstairs first applying for the security job. The soldier's name had been Matthew Raymond Carstairs, and his date of birth was 17th May, 1975, but it's not hard to have a legit birth certificate changed. There are people who make a living from conducting such forgeries. I could have done it, except I'm working on the other side of the law."

"Thank you, Tariq," Ruth said, her mind already racing ahead.

* * *

Harry and Lucas were let into the townhouse of the Home Secretary by one of his security men. There was another man on the back door, and they found Matthew Carstairs on the first floor, sitting on a hard-backed chair outside Blake's closed bedroom door, his eyes following them as they drew closer. Carstairs stood, but he acted too late. In an instant, Lucas demonstrated his height and weight advantage. Lucas lifted his elbow and sank it into the neck of the other man, felling him. As he lay on the carpet, his body inert, Lucas placed one boot over the other man's upper arm, and very slowly applied pressure until Carstairs cried out.

"Step away," a voice called from behind Harry, who was wondering whether he should have remained in the safe house with Ruth. "We have him." Three armed members of CO19 rushed the prone man, their weapons trained on him.

"Where is Blake?" Harry asked, and Carstairs limply pointed towards the door. Not waiting for an invitation, Harry quickly opened the bedroom door and turned on the light. Under the duvet in the king size bed two people-shaped lumps moved, but Blake was the only one to turn his face to the doorway. He squinted, momentarily blinded by the light.

"What the fuck? Harry? I hope you have a good reason for this."

"Just your life, Home Secretary, and the life of your .. companion." Harry smiled as a rather young woman turned towards him, a scowl on her face. Definitely not Cassandra Blake, who was at least twenty years older than the woman in bed with Blake.

Nicholas Blake pulled himself upright, and Harry surmised that beneath the duvet he was naked, as was his female companion. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Harry. You're no choir boy. You forget that I've read your file."

Harry smiled at the former Home Secretary. "You'd best come outside, sir. Dressed would be best," he added, closing the door as he backed out of the room.

* * *

Less than ten minutes later Harry was sitting across from Nicholas Blake in his private office, a windowless, wood-paneled, bookshelf-lined room on the ground floor of his town house. Blake sat in his office chair, leaning back, feigning disinterest, while Harry threw questions at him, one after the other.

A sharp rap on the door was met with an irritated `What?' from Harry. The door opened just enough to reveal Lucas North's face.

"Do you need me to remain on site?" Lucas asked.

Harry relaxed slightly. "Yes. I'll be tied up here for a while." Lucas quietly closed the door, and Harry returned to questioning Blake. "Did the security person you knew as Matthew Carstairs ever have access to this office?"

"Of course not. Why would I -?"

"What about your bedroom?"

Blake frowned, breaking eye contact, and Harry knew that the Home Secretary had allowed a possible terrorist into his private domain. "I sent him to get my mobile phone from my bedside table."

"Where were you at the time?"

"In the dining room."

"Which is?"

"Just down the corridor from here." Blake pointed towards the back of the house.

Harry quickly stood up and took two steps to the door, opening it and gruffly calling Lucas, who was just about to make a phone call. "The bedroom, Lucas," he bellowed, but it was too late. Harry was outside Blake's private office as the device exploded in the bedroom directly above. The walls of the house shook and plaster tumbled from the ceiling, raining on the spotless beige carpet. "The bedroom, Lucas. The girl is still in the bedroom." Harry stumbled forwards into the corridor as Nicholas Blake pushed him from behind in his hurry to get out of the office, where the ceiling was already raining down in chunks of plaster.

"Amanda is still upstairs," Blake cried as he ran along the corridor towards the stairs.

Harry turned to see Lucas speaking into his comms. "There's a young woman in the bedroom," he said. Harry could only assume that he was speaking to the chief officer from CO19, who had remained upstairs. "Do you read me?" Lucas waited and then repeated his question. When he heard no answer he ran towards the stairs.

"Lucas!" Harry called, but Lucas was already half way up the stairs. Harry considered following, but when a considerable sized chunk of ceiling fell and swiped his shoulder, sending him spinning backwards to the floor, his decision was made for him. He rolled away, grabbing his left shoulder with his right hand. " _Fuck!_ " he said, more from frustration than anything else. He looked around him, but he was alone in the corridor. Everyone else seemed to have gone upstairs, or if they were sensible, headed outside.

As he sat up and checked the state of his shoulder, Harry's first thought was of what he would say to Ruth were he to return to her injured. She'd be angry, making reference to his age and his proper place being in his office on the Grid. Harry could see that she had a point. He was still sitting dazed on the carpet, nursing his left shoulder with his right hand when Lucas hurtled down the stairs and into the corridor. "One dead and two injured upstairs," he said quickly, barely noticing Harry's situation.

"Who?"

"Two CO19 are injured, and the girl in the bed is dead. Fortunately it was a small explosive. I suspect it was planted under the bed. It was only meant to kill whoever was in the bed."

"Blake and his wife," Harry mused, and Lucas nodded, his expression grave.

"And the bed's a write-off," Lucas added as an afterthought.

"Get on to Tariq," Harry added. "He needs to find out who would go to this trouble to kill Blake, and he needs to trace the identity of the man posing as Matthew Carstairs."

"He'd be a gun for hire," Lucas replied, avoiding Harry's eyes. "Only we in security would put ourselves in the front line in this way." Lucas reached down to help Harry to his feet. Harry noticed the powdery dust in Lucas' hair, eyelashes and eyebrows, and he imagined he was similarly affected. "Will you be all right?" Lucas asked.

Harry pulled his right arm away from Lucas, irritated by the concern of the younger, fitter, stronger man. "Before I do anything else I need to ring Ruth," Harry said, and headed towards the back entrance off the dining room, stepping around fallen ornaments, dislodged furniture, and chunks of plaster as he went.

When he hit fresh air Harry breathed in a lungful, relieved that he had not been badly hurt. He shook his head, tiny pieces of plaster falling out of his hair onto the pavers, and then brushed his arms with his hands. His shoulder hurt like hell, but he'd only sustained light grazes to his skin, although his suit jacket and shirt were both likely ruined. "Ruth?" he said, as she answered, her voice sounding breathless. "I'm just letting you know that there was a bomb in Nicholas Blake's bedroom, and that it detonated around ten minutes ago."

"I know. I heard it from here. You shouldn't even be there," she said coldly, and while he knew he had reason to feel annoyed with her for her attitude, he also knew she'd been afraid for him.

"Ruth, I had to be here."

"Because of the Home Secretary?"

"Yes. I'm the one of us who knows him best. For whatever reason, he appears to trust me."

"And he survived?"

"Yes, he did. He had someone in bed with him – a young woman – and she didn't make it."

"Anyone we know?"

"No. Her name is Amanda something. She couldn't have been any older than thirty or so."

"Doesn't he have a daughter around that age?"

"Yes. Megan is thirty-one."

"I imagine her presence will be hushed up," Ruth mused.

"It must be. Knowledge of her presence would put a slur on his whole time in office."

"Even though most members of Cabinet are sleeping with someone other than their life partners."

"Ruth, I hadn't taken you for a cynic." Harry wanted to keep her talking - about anything at all. Her voice soothed him. It was a balm.

"I don't know why it is that men with perfectly lovely wives have to seek solace with … whores."

"I have it on good authority that Cassandra Blake knows about Nicholas' affairs, and even encourages them."

"Then he must be a dud in bed. If you ever sought the arms of another woman -"

"Ruth," he said, his mouth close to the mouthpiece, just in case he was overheard, "You have nothing to worry about." Recognising that this was not the time or place for such a conversation, Harry quickly changed the subject. "Matthew Carstairs was sitting outside Blake's bedroom, and it seems that he was the one who planted the explosive device. Lucas knocked him down when first we arrived, so he hasn't yet been interviewed."

"Why would Lucas do that?"

"In case he hadn't yet done .. what he was paid to do."

"That was overkill."

"Perhaps."

"Do you know how long it will be before you are able to return .. to the safe house?" she asked.

Harry turned around to see that Lucas had just stepped from the house on to the terrace, but was keeping his distance until Harry's call was ended. "I have to go, Ruth. I might be a while."

"I know, and thank you for ringing me. Ever since I heard the explosion, I ..."

"I know. I know you have. I love you."

"And I you. Come back to me soon."

"I will." And Harry ended the call and pocketed his phone. "Have you contacted Ros?" he asked Lucas.

"Not yet. I'm hoping the research she is doing for Tariq is keeping her occupied. Is Ruth all right?"

Harry nodded. He wasn't about to share anything about his and Ruth's relationship with anyone at all. They were private and new and delicate and .. amazing, and he wanted to keep them close to him, so close that no-one could inquire or pry or gossip. He wanted no-one prodding them or pointing. He wanted them to happen away from the eyes of others. He wanted the magic to last. He needed them to be together for the long haul. Conducting a love affair at his age was difficult enough without everyone knowing and voicing an opinion.

Harry stayed on site for another hour, and then when his shoulder began to ache in earnest he drove back to the safe house, leaving Lucas to keep an eye on things during the clean up.

* * *

"Here – let me help you with that," Ruth said, noticing Harry struggling to remove his jacket. Seeing him in pain quickly drove any residual irritation with him from her mind. Maybe tomorrow – or the day after – she could address his enduring need to protect her, to jump into situations which were dangerous even for men much younger than he. It was when he winced as she drew the jacket from his body that she looked more closely at his shoulder, while Harry deftly removed the holster and pistol from over his other shoulder. Very slowly and carefully Ruth pulled his shirt away from his left shoulder, revealing a raw red mark and an emerging bruise from his neck to his upper arm. "Why didn't you tell me about this when you rang me from Blake's house?" she said, examining the mark, a deep frown furrowing her brow.

"I didn't want to upset you," Harry said quietly. "Besides, it's nothing."

"It's not nothing."

By this time Harry was sitting, and he watched in awe as Ruth bent over and placed the softest of kisses on his skin where the mark was reddest. "Ruth," he said, but he could not continue. He could feel tears pricking behind his eyes, and this wasn't the time for such expressions of raw emotion. Besides, Lucas could be back at any moment.

"If this flat had a bath I'd send you to have a long hot soak," Ruth said, standing up and dropping her hands from him. "Perhaps a shower would be in order."

Harry wearily rose from the chair, and headed upstairs for a shower while Ruth again checked in with Tariq. "I'm following a series of electronic leads and they are confusing, although one of them leads me back to Thames House," he said. "I need at least another hour, but I don't like the look of it at all."

"What about the identity of Matthew Carstairs, Tariq? Have you checked the military records?"

"Not yet, Ruth. I can't do everything at once."

"I know. Sorry." Ruth was anxious that whoever was behind the attack at Blake's residence be identified as soon as possible. She could do the search herself, but first she had to keep an eye on Harry. He was no longer a young man, and he'd no doubt not take care of his injury.

It had just gone 5.15 am when Ruth slowly climbed the stairs in search of Harry. He wasn't in the bathroom, so she checked the bedroom where earlier that morning he had slept for a few hours. She found him stretched out on top of the duvet, face down and with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his breathing steadily rhythmic. Even in the dimness of the bedroom Ruth could see the raw red mark across his left shoulder. She quietly stepped beside the bed and wrapped the duvet around him, covering all but his head. She then kissed his hair, softly stroked his cheek, and then crept downstairs to make a pot of coffee for herself and Lucas.

* * *

By the time Ruth had finished drinking a mug of coffee Lucas had still not returned and he was not answering his phone. Ruth thought of joining Harry in bed upstairs, but she believed that at least one of them needed to remain awake. Having not slept for almost 24 hours she was tired, but she was determined to stay awake, at least until Lucas returned.

Just after 6 o'clock her mobile phone rang, "Tariq?" she answered.

"I'm having trouble isolating the origin of the signal which was relayed through the Home Secretary's basement, but something .. strange has come up. I can't be certain, as there are so many reasons for this, but it's possible that the signal originated in Thames House. I can't rule it out. I also have the time frame when the original order was put through."

Ruth waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. "Don't keep me in suspense, Tariq. Which terminal? Surely it could not have been someone in Section D."

"Is Lucas there?"

"No, and he's not answering his phone." Again there was a heavy silence from Tariq. "You're not suggesting that the order came from Lucas."

"It looks that way."


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth sat stunned, her phone still against her ear, although Tariq had not qualified his statement. What more could he say? The kill order had been bounced through the work terminal of Lucas North, and Lucas wasn't answering his phone. That information alone did not seal Lucas's guilt, but Harry had told her how Lucas had attacked Carstairs as soon as they'd arrived outside the bedroom of Nicholas Blake. Why would he do that? Wouldn't it have been prudent to secure him first and then question him? What if Lucas wanted to silence him, or to send him a message that he should not speak? Ruth's head was whirling with possibilities, none of them desirable. "And the time when Lucas' terminal was accessed?" she asked at last, aware that Tariq was still at the other end of the phone.

"Sunday. Between 8 and 8.20 pm."

Sunday. Ruth hadn't been keeping tabs on Lucas. By 8 pm Sunday she and Harry had been curled up on the sofa together in his living room. The TV had been turned to some cooking show, which neither of them had been watching. They had been talking about Ros, contemplating when she might be well enough to return to work. Ruth didn't mind Ros being on sick leave, but she knew that Harry missed her. Her having survived the hotel bombing had been a minor miracle, one which had filled Harry with joy. Ruth was prepared to be pleased on Harry's behalf that Ros had survived. It was six weeks ago, four nights after the bombing, that she and Harry had first made love. Their move into intimacy came in an unplanned moment of relief and joy. Harry had received a call from the hospital informing him that Ros was out of danger, although her recovery was likely to be long and arduous. The relief on his face had taken years off him, so that Ruth had taken his face between her hands and kissed him, a long and tender kiss. That evening they had each let down their guards enough to allow a few kisses to send them hurrying upstairs to Harry's bedroom. Ruth had stayed the night, and for the first time she had shared Harry's bed, his naked body curved around her own, his arms holding her against him.

So perhaps Ruth had to thank Ros for still being with them. Perhaps it would be down to her to make amends with Ros. At least with the prospect of Ros's return to the Grid some time in the future Harry would be happier and infinitely more content. Of course, that would only be the case were Lucas not in any way involved in the attempt on the life of the former Home Secretary.

"Can you check the CCTV for that evening, Tariq?" she said, suddenly remembering that he was still at the end of the phone.

"I'm running that, Ruth, and … I thought I might try something else .. just to check Lucas' phone activity. To do that I have to use a little software package which I've been reluctant to use."

Ruth had to trust that Tariq was covering his tracks. It was not her place to remind him. "Then let me know how it goes, Tariq." She ended the call and then checked the time. Perhaps she should let Harry sleep for a while longer.

* * *

When the CCTV footage of Lucas's computer terminal in Section D showed nothing unusual, and certainly no activity around the area of Lucas's desk any time after 6 pm on Sunday evening, Tariq had to pursue his suspicions using a different set of skills. He had obtained mobile phone hijacking software from someone close to him who had worked on its development under contract with GCHQ. It was still in development, but he also knew of at least five technicians working at Vauxhall Cross who had been trialling the software with positive results so far. He sent the encrypted text message to Lucas North's phone. The message would go unnoticed by Lucas, while at the same time affording Tariq full use of the phone – as though he had Lucas' phone in his hand. To be on the safe side Tariq also sent the same encrypted message to the phone number owned by Matthew Carstairs at the time he'd applied to work in the Home Secretary's security detail. Then he waited, his eyes on both screens, while he quickly scanned through the call and message history of both phones.

At first glance he could see nothing out of the ordinary, so he fed the call and message records of both phones into another tracing program, one which would identify any crossover contacts, calls or messages between the two phones, and at the same time it would isolate the senders and receivers of calls and messages to and from each phone. The collation of messages would take no time at all, but identifying the owners of other phones would take much longer. Satisfied that the programs were running smoothly, Tariq stood, stretching his back, neck and shoulders. Whilst coffee was not his favourite beverage, after an all-nighter on the Grid it would keep him going until he had enough information to be reporting back to Ruth.

* * *

As Ruth curled up on the sofa in the living room of the safe house she allowed her eyelids, heavy with fatigue, to close. A few minutes of quiet rest wouldn't hurt. When, much later, her head rolled off the cushion and on to the hard shoulder of the sofa's armrest she awoke suddenly and a little painfully. Rubbing her head with the fingertips of one hand, she noticed the light behind the curtains, and the thrum of traffic from the streets outside the flat. She sat up and looked around her. The room appeared as it had when she'd fallen asleep. She lifted her body from the sofa and headed through to the kitchen, where the digital clock on the microwave oven announced the time as 9.12 am. _Bloody hell. I've slept for almost three hours_. Ruth filled the kettle and set it to boil, before she checked her phone messages. There were three messages from Tariq, all sent over an hour earlier. What they said changed the game, so she quickly called Tariq to check the facts, and then headed upstairs to wake Harry.

She gently rapped her knuckles on the door before she opened it. The room was dark, with the light of morning peeping through the narrow gap where the curtains didn't quite meet. She sat on the bed and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. He had rolled from his stomach to his side, and was facing away from her. Remembering that the shoulder on which she rested her hand was the one which had been injured, Ruth moved her hand further down Harry's body to his hip. With the thickness of the duvet between her hand and his skin, she grasped tightly and gently shook him. She thought of kissing his cheek or his neck, but that would be giving entirely the wrong message. She was waking him so that he could work. "Harry," she said, leaning closer to his ear. "You have to wake up." Beneath her hand she felt his breathing change, and he began stretching his body, beginning with his legs.

"Any changes?" he asked sleepily.

"Several," she replied. "I'm going downstairs to make a fresh pot of coffee and some toast, so I'll leave you to it." Ruth stood, but before she left the room she bent to place a kiss on the back of Harry's head. "And in case you're wondering, it's almost 9.30 am."

Harry's reaction was immediate. In one swift movement he pushed the duvet from his shoulders and turned to face her. All she could see was the bruising on his shoulder, and how it had deepened and darkened in colour while he slept. "Jesus, Ruth. Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I'm afraid that I also fell asleep. At least Tariq has worked right through."

As she was speaking Harry sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I might need another shower."

With his movement the towel he had been wrapped in fell away from his waist, exposing his naked body. From the doorway Ruth looked back at him. "Make it quick. Strange things are afoot."

"What strange things?"

"I'll tell you once you're dressed and downstairs," and then she quickly left the room. She was finding it difficult to engage in a serious conversation with a naked Harry in bed.

* * *

Several miles away Ros Myers was being served breakfast in bed. "I rather like the idea of having servants," she said, leaning back against the pillows which had been arranged behind her. "And you're cheap, which makes you just about perfect."

"Perfect I'm not," Lucas replied, "and nor am I cheap. I intend exacting my fee for service in other ways."

"So long as it's in the bedroom I have no complaints."

"We shall see."

Ros sipped her tea, watching Lucas across the top of her mug. She noticed him patting his pockets, and then his eyebrows drew together, and he turned to look around the room. "What?" she asked. "Lost something? Your dignity perhaps?"

"My phone. I can't remember when I last saw it."

"And you're meant to be on an operation. I saw you put it on the coffee table in the living room, after which you dumped your leather jacket on top of it."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"That's not my job. I'm not your mother."

"No. My mother was a really nice woman," he said, heading towards the doorway.

"What's that supposed to mean? Lucas?" But he was already half way down the stairs.

Ros carefully placed her tea cup on the tray and picked up a triangle of toast. She could get used to living this way. "Found it!" Lucas called out from downstairs, followed by a cry of, "Holy shit!" Next Ros heard him bounding back up the stairs. "Ruth has tried ringing me around six times. Something has happened."

"Something?"

"I think I'd better head back to the Grid."

"So what do I do? I need help."

"You haven't required the wheelchair for the past ten days, Ros." Seeing her mouth turn into the hard line he knew so well, Lucas let out a deep sigh. "All right. I'll help you get dressed, then I can assist you to get downstairs. Once you're down there -"

"Yes, I know. I have those walking stick things."

"You can always use the Zimmer frame. You haven't even tried it." Seeing the expression on Ros's face was enough for him to stop talking about the walking frame. "Okay, okay. No Zimmer frame."

"Not until I'm at least 80."

"Ros, I think that you'll still be fighting against using it at 80."

It took almost fifteen minutes to help Ros dress and then get her comfortable downstairs. As much as Lucas cared about her, she was a difficult patient. It was clear to him that to cover her discomfort at being reliant on someone to help her, she chose to feign a further level of dependence. He was looking forward to when she received the all clear to return to work. "You're going now?" Ros said, her disapproval clear in the tone of her voice. "What about me?"

Lucas stood in the doorway, for once itching to be free from her presence. "You'll be fine, Ros. You're resilient. You'll manage."

"So, don't I even get a kiss?"

Lucas took a breath, but resisted the urge to sigh. He quickly crossed the living room and bent down to give her a quick goodbye kiss. "I'll see you later," he said, standing and looking down at her, realising that her sarcasm regarding the attempt on the life of Nicholas Blake was her way of expressing disappointment that she hadn't been there .. in the thick of things.

"Just take care of yourself, Lucas."

"I always do."

* * *

Ruth drove herself and Harry to Thames House in Harry's Range Rover, her excuse being that Harry's shoulder looked sore, so she'd best be the one to drive. Harry hadn't the heart to argue with her, musing that were they to meet their deaths on the way there, at least they'd die together, and that would be a fitting coda to their lives. Harry also admitted to himself that he needed at least another six to eight hours of sleep. He didn't know how Ruth managed on the little she'd had since the operation had begun.

Harry was even more surprised to see that Tariq was still awake and sitting at his bank of monitors. "He drinks a lot of caffeine drinks when he's working," Ruth had replied when he'd mentioned it to her.

"Are you ready for an impromptu meeting, Tariq?" Harry asked, pointing towards the meeting room, where Dimitri and Lucas had already taken cups of coffee and made themselves comfortable. Harry sat at the head of the table, pulling out a chair across the corner for Ruth. Dimitri and Lucas appeared to ignore the gesture. "The sooner we get to the bottom of this morning's attempt on Blake's life, the sooner we can catch up on sleep," Harry said, pointing to a spare chair when Tariq entered the meeting room, a sheet of paper in his hand. "The floor is yours, Tariq."

"Right," the young man said, looking at each of the other people at the table in turn. "I believe I'm inching closer to what this has been about. Do you want me to give you the synopsis, or the detailed version?"

Four voices spoke in unison. "The synopsis."

"Right," Tariq replied, smiling his cheery, lop-sided smile. "Well, the good news is that Lucas is not behind the assassination attempt."

"Hang on," Lucas interrupted, looking around the table to see innocent expressions on every face. "Who said I was?"

"The evidence," Tariq replied, his voice still cheery and friendly, as though the worst he'd ever believed of Lucas was that he'd stolen the last biscuit on the plate. "It all pointed to you, or at least some of it did."

"So, it wasn't me."

"No. It was someone pretending to be you."

"I think we've established that Lucas hasn't tried to murder the former Home Secretary," Harry butted in, his voice clipped with irritation. "Tariq, the relevant facts only .. _please_." Feeling Ruth's eyes on him, Harry quickly turned to see her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. "What?" he added.

"Everything will be revealed in good time, Harry."

Harry looked from her to each of the other three people at the table. "Am I missing something?"

"We all want to know about Tariq's findings, Harry," Ruth said, her voice calm and quiet, so that Harry sat back and took a deep breath, laying his palms flat on the table in front of him. "Tariq? The short answer."

"Well," Tariq began again, "Lucas' work station was accessed remotely, and with current technology, that can only be done either from within this building – which appears unlikely - or by mobile phone, using software which is still in development. As far as I can tell, the kill order came from a phone registered in the name of Ayoub Jafri. There's an address attached to the account, but the address is a vacant block in Bromley."

"I know Ayoub," Lucas said quietly. "He's .. not a murderer."

"Ruth?" Harry asked, turning to her for answers. "Have you anything on this man?" Ruth's face showed shock, and then when she looked up to see Harry's eyes on hers, she shook her head. "You have nothing .. nothing at all?"

Again she shook her head. "That's just it," she said. "I know Ayoub, or I thought I did. He's a leader in his community, and he looks for peaceful solutions. He's an educated man. He teaches International Relations at a local community college. It can't possibly be him."

"Then I'm back to where I began when I believed that Lucas had been behind it," said Tariq, scratching his head.

"What if .." Ruth began, looking down at her hands which were clasped in the table top. "What if Ayoub Jafri is just another man in a group of people whose phones have been hijacked? What if whoever is behind this is using that same phone hijacking software you were telling me about, Tariq? What if what you have discovered - Lucas's terminal being used, and now Ayoub Jafri's phone - is just part of an elaborate electronic smoke screen?"

Harry turned from Ruth to Tariq to see the younger man's face change – from confusion to understanding. "To have created this level of .. confusion, they _would_ need to have used the software I was using this morning to get inside the phones of Lucas and Matthew Carstairs – or whoever Carstairs really is. This phone software changes the game entirely, making identifying the source phone difficult, especially if a message or a signal passes through a series of phones. It's even possible that the developer of this software could be … behind the attack on the Home Secretary."

"And do you know who this technical genius is, Tariq?" Lucas asked, relieved that he was no longer in the firing line.

Tariq looked in turn at each person sitting at the table, his eyes wide. "Yes. I know him."

"Who is it, Tariq?" Ruth's voice was kind.

It took several very long seconds for Tariq to answer, during which time he swallowed several times. "His name is Rashid Masood," he said. "He's my cousin."


	4. Chapter 4

All five people sitting around the meeting table in Section D sat still, not speaking. Each person was attempting to get their head around what Tariq Masood had just revealed – that his cousin, Rashid, technically as gifted as he, had been the brains behind the attempt on the life of the former Home Secretary of Great Britain.

Lucas North was the first to speak. "Bullshit!" he said, his voice little more than a sigh. "Your cousin is a bit like you, right?"

"Except he's taller," Tariq replied.

"What I mean is .. he's into gadgets and geekery. He's not political .. or greedy."

"Yeah," Tariq said. "That just about sums him up."

Lucas glanced at Dimitri and then continued. "Unless Tariq's cousin has been paid a ridiculous amount of money to develop of tricky way of murdering Blake – which turned out to be not so tricky after all – then we've headed in the wrong direction. It's possible that the trail Tariq's been following has been deliberately laid, to give whoever is behind this time to resettle. I think we have to examine the hotel bombing in more detail. This .. attempt on Blake's life has all the usual hallmarks of a Nightingale hit."

"Go on," said Harry, giving Lucas his full attention.

"Well .. the hotel bombing was hardly subtle, was it? It was saying: `Look what we're capable of? The next one will be bigger. We're the ones in charge.' It was well organised also. And I think that we need to look more closely at Blake. Since he resigned he's been abnormally quiet. I know he's up to something."

Everyone at the table fell silent. Privately, Harry was almost certain Blake was up to something, which was one reason he wanted the man kept alive, at least until he'd found proof that the man was not as he seemed. It was Ruth who first spoke. "I agree with you, Lucas. I'll look into Blake's recent activities, but it will have to be later today, or maybe tomorrow. He's clearly not going anywhere." Ruth gave Harry a quick look and he nodded. "In the meantime, we need to take a closer look at Matthew Carstairs." She looked towards Tariq, who had been listening carefully. "The technological connection may be relevant, so we should not rule it out. Tariq, can you .."

"I'll set up a couple of scans on the people you mentioned, and then I need to put my head down for a few hours. Can I sleep here?"

"There's a room with a cot at the end of the outer corridor," Harry said. "It's directly opposite the men's toilets. Take as long as you like. You've earned a break."

Tariq was dismissed from the meeting, leaving Harry, Ruth, Lucas and Dimitri. Harry sighed heavily."You two are free to go. Lucas, it might benefit the cause were you to have a one-to-one chat with Carstairs."

"I have an idea," Lucas said. "I gave Ros some information about the attempt on Blake's life. I messaged her Carstairs' image, and some of the details of what happened. I asked her to see what she could find. This is not her area of expertise, but she's a bit -"

"Bored?" Harry suggested.

"Yeah. She needs to keep busy, otherwise she starts .. thinking too much. I told her I'd check on her after we finish here, so why don't I take Ruth around there – with your laptop, Ruth – and you and Ros can put your heads together, while Dimitri and I go back to Blake's residence and see what we can find. The upstairs of his townhouse is out of bounds, but most of his staff are still on duty and I'd quite like to find out what they know."

Privately Ruth was beginning to panic. She could not imagine being alone with Ros Myers in her own house for several hours, even if they were busily working. "All right," she said quietly, and sensing she had little say in the matter, she kept her eyes down.

Suddenly Harry stood, pushing his chair back with his movement. "Stay there," he said, his eyes on Ruth. He quickly turned to Lucas and Dimitri, nodding towards the door, a signal for them to leave. Once Dimitri and Lucas had left the room, Harry moved to sit in the chair next to Ruth. He waited a moment to ensure that she wasn't about to get up and leave the room, and then he reached across and grasped her hand. Ruth looked down at their hands. They never displayed affection for one another at work. They had agreed that work would continue as normal, so Harry's action was out of character for him. "I know you're unhappy about what Lucas has suggested. I know you and Ros are ..." Harry looked into Ruth's eyes, hoping she'd come up with an appropriate word.

"We've never been close, Harry. We're complete opposites, but if working with her for a couple of hours helps, then I'll do it."

"I don't want you to martyr yourself." Ruth suddenly withdrew her hand from beneath Harry's. She wrapped that hand in her other and held them in her lap, close to her body. Her body language did not invite further intimacy. "I'm sorry," Harry said. "That was clumsy of me."

Ruth looked up into Harry's eyes, and he saw the hurt and confusion there. He sighed and drew his palm down his face, not knowing what to do to fix the situation. As much as he loved her, and had for a long time, sometimes Ruth confounded him with her complexity. "I'm sorry, Harry. As much as I don't want to go to Ros's house and work … exclusively with her, I will .. if that will help, but .. I'd like it were you to come with me."

"No," Harry said after a long silence. "It's best you work in an environment which is familiar. I shouldn't have asked you."

That was that then. Ruth allowed the tension to leave her body. She had nothing against Ros. She simply didn't want to be pushed into working with someone who was not familiar with her own methods. She turned to face Harry, who was watching her, checking that her response was genuine. "But don't let me stop you, Harry. If you want to visit her, then you should. I can handle things at this end. I have to do a deeper search on Nicholas Blake, and to do that it's best I have no distractions."

Of course Ruth knew about Harry's weekly visits to see Ros in her home. He would have done the same for any of his operatives who had been badly injured on the job. Harry and Ros had a closeness, an openness that she and Harry had not quite yet reached, at least not in their personal association. Perhaps Harry felt more relaxed around Ros, although why that would be Ruth had no idea. While around the woman Ruth still felt wired, waiting for her next smart remark.

Once Harry left the Grid, Ruth settled at her desk and opened the program which allowed her to search the memos and emails between government departments. She had to begin somewhere. To find anything new on Nicholas Blake would require time and a lot of patience.

* * *

Ros had hobbled to the door to let Harry in, pointing to a chair across the coffee table, where she'd set up a temporary office space.

"All I need is one of those computers which responds to my voice and I'd be set," she said, lifting her legs to drape them along the length of the sofa.

"How's the physiotherapy progressing?" Harry began.

"Do not mention the P-word in my presence. Torture would be a more apt description of what I go through three times a week."

"It will be worth it in the end."

"So my physiotherapist keeps telling me. So what brings you here?"

"Apart from visiting you?"

Ros's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Apart from that. I know you're checking on me, Harry. You're assessing me. Will I make it back to work, or am I destined for the scrap heap"

"You're still a long way from the scrap heap."

"Lucas mentioned something about you bringing Ruth here to work with me."

"She .. changed her mind. She'd rather work on her own."

"Fair enough. I'd not want to be around me either, but I have no choice."

"Ros -"

"I know that Ruth despises me."

"Despises is rather a strong word."

"Dislikes. Is that better?"

Harry twisted his mouth while he thought how best to answer. He couldn't lie to Ros. She could sense a lie at 100 paces. "She has a long memory, Ros, and having to go into exile hurt her."

"You could have kept her here, Harry, but you were too damned scared to put your job on the line."

"Now, hang on -" Harry sat up. Ros may be injured, but he was ready for a fight.

"If you'd loved her then you would have found a way to keep her here."

Harry had no answer to that because there was a truth to it. He could have saved her, but he hadn't had time. "She would rather work on the Grid, where she has everything she needs nearby."

"Fair enough. I don't want to argue with you about Ruth. It's a no-win situation."

Harry relaxed a little. "Have you found anything on Matthew Carstairs, the security guy?"

"Quite a bit, actually. From what I've discovered I'd say he's not the one who tried to kill Blake, but that's just a hunch. When I've made sense of it all I'll send in a report via Lucas. For now, I don't wish to speculate any further than that."

Whilst mildly irritated, Harry knew Ros was right.

* * *

By the time Harry returned from visiting Ros, Ruth had come to the end of her search through official channels and the online media pages. She had found nothing she didn't already know, which could mean that Blake was very adept at covering his tracks. She had only just begin looking through files which were not necessarily for her eyes, when she came across several documents which she could only call `interesting'. These documents linked Nicholas Blake with several other people high up in Nightingale. She was about to investigate further when Harry stepped through the pods and headed straight to her desk. He smiled, relieved that she was still at work, but concerned that she should be home sleeping. He looked around to see that Tariq was back at his desk in the technology suite. "Does that lad run on adrenalin alone?" he said, turning back to see Ruth looking up at him, dark circles under her eyes.

"He had around two hours sleep, and then he wandered back in, saying his mind wouldn't shut down. I think he'll be ready to sleep when he's sorted out this problem with the people who are trialling the mobile phone hacking software. He's heavily invested in clearing his cousin's name."

"His cousin's not involved," Harry said quickly. "Whoever is behind this is probably a long way from Britain - or their money is - and pulling strings using large amounts of money as motivation. Can you see Tariq, or anyone related to him, being swayed by money?"

"You're right. The people who have orchestrated this have a lot of money at their disposal .. like Nightingale." Ruth left her comment there. Harry had not risen to the bait, and they were both too weary to begin speculating about who in Nightingale may have been the brains behind the hotel bombing.

"Are you ready for home?" Harry asked, leaning a little closer to her, his voice more intimate.

"Whose home?"

Harry twisted his lips. "My house is closer."

"Very well, but I'll drive."

"I drove to Ros's and back with only a little discomfort."

"I'll drive," Ruth repeated emphatically. "I know that in Harry-speak, `a little discomfort' means your shoulder hurts like hell. Can you give me another twenty minutes? I want to finish this, and then I'll be ready."

Harry headed to his office to check his messages; there were none which couldn't wait until the next day. Then he used the toilet next to his office, and lastly he went to the kitchen to make cups of tea for himself and Ruth.

* * *

As Harry crossed the Grid Tariq lifted his head. He knew he should go home, but he was hell bent on clearing his cousin, as well as Rashid's former business partner, Jamahl Dhillon. He was checking their banking details, chiefly any transactions which had occurred during the previous six months. Following financial trails was something he enjoyed immensely.

While those searches were under way, Tariq decided to do similar searches of the banking details of the technical staff at Six who had been trialling the phone hacking software. He didn't expect there to be any large deposits of funds in any of their accounts, but he had to investigate them all in order to eliminate them. Within twenty minutes he found that only three weeks earlier a rather large sum of money had been deposited into a new account opened by one of the technicians, Aaron Zoanetti. _Holy shit!_ Rather than jump up and down and shout, which he was tempted to do, Tariq took note of the deposit, and allowed the search to continue.

He had set all his searches to run through the night if necessary, so he turned one of his monitors to the BBC news service, and sat back to watch, his head phones ensuring no-one else would be disturbed.

* * *

Across the other side of the Grid, Ruth and Harry sat quietly, sipping their tea, occasionally glancing at the other. Ruth had already set up a search to run through the night, one which would gather all the communications and associations of Nicholas Blake, both domestic and international, plus any memos and emails to or from his offices at home and in the Home Office. Her parameters were to collect all communications between Blake and the known members of Nightingale. With Harry sitting across from her she really ought to have told him what she suspected, but first she wanted to be sure. She lifted her eyes to his to see him watching her closely, a half-smile on his lips.

"What is it about today that is making you so .. different, Harry?" Ruth said at last.

"I'm different?"

"You've stepped outside the boundaries of professionalism into the personal .. on several occasions."

Harry tidied the edge of Ruth's desk, more as a distraction than a need for order. Then he sighed heavily. "It was what happened in the early hours. At Blake's town house."

"When you nearly got yourself killed?"

"Not really. What happened to me was par for the course. It was what almost happened to Blake. I wonder, when he last saw her, had he thought to tell his wife he loves her."

Ruth frowned, drawing her eyebrows together. "He _loves_ her? He doesn't act like he does. All I can think is that Blake dodged a bullet. Had the bomb detonated just twenty minutes earlier, he and his young lover would have died together, and then how meaningful would have been his I-love-you?" Ruth became aware of Harry's embarrassment. "Did I just touch a sore spot?" She leaned forward and whispered, "I know you love me, Harry. Had you somehow been killed this morning I already knew that you love me."

"It's not that. It's .. Ruth, when I was married I used to tell my wife I loved her, and then go off and shag some other woman. Sometimes, and with some men, declarations of love are just words .. or habit. They don't mean very much."

"Do you mean it now … when you tell me ..?"

"Of course I do. You know I do."

"All I'm asking is that your saying that to me isn't a prelude to you shagging someone else. You'll be minus a certain body part were you to ever do that."

"Ouch," he said quietly, lifting his eyes to hers to see whether she meant it. He had to assume she did.

"This is a very strange conversation we're having, Harry."

Harry was unable to answer because at that moment Tariq called out to them. With only a handful of admin people on the Grid, Ruth, Harry and Tariq were the only senior staff present. "Take a look at this," he said, as they reached his desk. On one monitor was the rolling news service. "I thought I'd check to see how the BBC were reporting this morning's attempt on Blake's life."

While Ruth took the seat next to Tariq, Harry leaned over Ruth's shoulder, his hand on the back of her chair, his knuckles resting warmly against her back. Tariq sat back in his chair and watched the screen, in his hand a pen which he kept clicking with his thumb.

" _.. and while the former Home Secretary is in hiding until those responsible are found, a family mourns the loss of their daughter and sister. 33-year-old Amanda Jane McIntyre, a member of Mr Blake's personal staff, died in the blast. Also injured were -"_

Tariq then muted the sound. "It's already beginning."

"What exactly?" Harry asked, his forehead creased in a frown.

"The cover-up."

"That's hardly surprising," Harry added. "We do it all the time."

Tariq smiled at both Ruth and then Harry. "I knew her."

"Who?"

"Amanda McIntyre. She's a junior analyst at Six. She used to go out with Jamahl, my cousin's former business partner. They were thick with one another for around a year, and then she met Aaron Zoanetti."

"And who is Aaron Zoanetti?" Harry wanted answers, and he wanted them yesterday .. preferably sooner.

"He's a technician at Six. He manages all the gadgets. He's also one of the people testing the software that Rashid and Jamahl created for GCHQ. He and she have been together for .. oh, around two years, perhaps longer."

"So what was she doing in bed with Nicholas Blake?" Ruth asked, her mind already racing ahead.

"I suspect she was sent there, to get into the former HS's bedroom, and how better to do that than to sleep with him?" replied Tariq. "Blake's a middle-aged man, and what middle-aged man can resist younger flesh?" Tariq quickly broke eye contact with Ruth, too late realising what he'd just said, and how his comment could apply to the couple beside him. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Since she was clearly having sex with Blake, no-one would question her going into the bedroom .. for any reason."

"But she was in the bedroom at the time it detonated," Ruth added.

"Either she wasn't meant to be, or whoever detonated that bomb was trying to get rid of both she and Blake, since they were spending that night together in his bed. Maybe she knew too much and could no longer be trusted." Tariq thought for a moment, and then looked back at Ruth. "Whatever it is happened, I believe she was the one most likely to have planted that bomb, believing that she'd be safe because she knew and trusted the person whose job it was to send the signal remotely."

Ruth and Harry both stared at Tariq, willing him to continue. "So who was it, Tariq?" Ruth asked, leaning forward in her chair.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N : Thank you to those who are continuing to read this, and a big thank you to those who have taken the trouble to leave reviews.**_

 _ **Bits of this are a tad M-ish.**_

* * *

There was a long moment of silence while they all waited for Tariq to speak. Tariq waited for his information to sink in while both Ruth and Harry frowned, their confusion clear. "I've checked the banking details of both Athol Keating and Jamahl Dhillon, and -"

"Who is Athol Keating?" Ruth asked, look at Tariq.

"Sorry, I thought you knew. Ros phoned me earlier. Athol Keating is Matthew Carstairs' real name. He used Carstairs' name in memory of the real Matthew Carstairs, who lost his legs in Iraq when the truck he was in was bombed. Six months later Carstairs committed suicide at his home in Essex. He chose the soldier's preferred mode of suicide and shot himself in the head. Athol Keating was the soldier driving that truck. He was uninjured. As far as Ros could tell, Keating has no political agenda, and I've already checked his banking transactions. The only money he has coming in is from his jobs in security and his army part-pension, so he's no longer a suspect. Similar story for my cousin's former business partner, Jamahl Dhillon."

Tariq stopped to check that both Harry and Ruth were paying attention. They were. "Come on, Tariq," Harry said with mild irritation. "Stop playing silly buggers."

"But I did find anomalies in someone's accounts – a very large sum was paid into a new account opened by this man only three weeks ago."

"Whose?" Harry was leaning over Ruth's shoulder, practically climbing onto Tariq's desk.

"Aaron Zoanetti. Technical assistant in Section C at Six, and long-term boyfriend of Amanda McIntyre."

"He killed his own girlfriend?" This time it was Ruth who spoke.

"It looks like it."

"He must have been paid an awful lot of money to have done that," Ruth said quietly.

"He was," Tariq replied soberly. "A regular shit load."

* * *

"Time we left," Harry said, as Ruth once again sat at her desk.

"Just give me ten minutes, Harry."

"No. I know you, Ruth. You'll then want another ten minutes, and then another."

"You can't make me leave," Ruth said, smiling up at him, attempting to charm him into doing what she wanted.

"I can and I am."

"As my boss or my … you know."

"Both .. your boss as well as your `you know'." Harry reached under Ruth's desk to grasp her bag, big enough to carry a small child of one or two years. "You can't possibly be effective when you're out on your feet, Ruth."

Ruth felt her body sink into the chair. Harry was right. She was beyond exhausted. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

"You have to come home with me, and go to bed. You've had no more than seven hours sleep in the past two and a half days. That can't be good for you."

So Ruth drove herself and Harry to his house, and as soon as she removed her coat and hung it up, she headed straight upstairs to bed. Harry was about to join her when his work phone rang. "Yes?" he said, hoping to adequately convey irritation. It was almost 7 o'clock and he had clocked off for the day. Nothing could be more important than his joining Ruth in bed .. to sleep.

"Harry, it's Lucas. I need to speak with you."

"You're speaking to me."

"I'd rather not use the phone. There's a little tavern about two blocks from your house. Can you meet me there?"

"When?"

"I'm there now."

Harry quickly left the house and walked briskly to the Grenadier Tavern. There was light drizzle falling so he took his umbrella. He'd used up his reserve of energy and concentration in getting through the day, so he hoped that what Lucas had to say would not take long.

"I'm not your asset, you know, Lucas," he said, sitting opposite the younger man at a small table near the far wall in a room which was dark and atmospheric. Lucas had already bought him a half pint of lager, not his favourite drink.

"I have something to tell you," Lucas said, swirling the lager around in his pint glass, already half empty. Harry had rarely seen Lucas looking so uncomfortable. Lucas was fearless, unruffled. He was a regular man's man, at ease with himself .. well, almost. "I visited Ros and we had a curry together. She said I should tell you this today."

"Tell me what?"

"This morning, when I hit Matthew Carstairs - who is really Athol Keating ..."

Harry waited for Lucas to continue, but the younger man threw back the remainder of his drink, and then glanced at the bar as if contemplating another. Harry suspected he had probably had enough. "Lucas? Perhaps you should tell me what you dragged me here to tell me. I'm tired and my bed is beckoning."

"I knew Athol Keating .. who has been using the name Matthew Carstairs. I first met him before I went to Russia. He was doing odd jobs .. anything that would make him money quickly. I don't know if he was involved in anything illegal, but chances are he was. I ran into him in a pub around four months ago. He was doing security work after leaving the army. It was the last thing I expected him to be doing. He was flashing around his money, so I just .. assumed he had another source of income."

"Lucas."

"What?"

"He's in the clear. We've checked him, or Tariq has run checks on him. There's nothing to connect him to the attempt on Blake's life."

"I know. That's not the reason I called you here." Lucas looked around them before he continued speaking. The level of noise in the room was such that he had to lean forward to be heard. "I went back to Blake's town house today to ask Athol a few questions. He'd applied for the job on Blake's security staff soon after he came home from Iraq."

"Yes, I know."

"He was the one who set up the electronic equipment in Blake's basement which was used to interfere with any surveillance on the house."

" _He_ was behind this?"

"Hardly. He was just a foot soldier, plus he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. He was being paid by Blake, but he was also there to inform .. _on_ Blake."

"He was investigating Blake?"

"That's what I said. Harry .. how well do you know Blake?"

"How well does anyone know a politician? Beneath the public veneer I image he has his loves and his hates and his eccentricities, as have we all."

"There has been a special unit set up within MI-6 to investigate the hotel bombing. I doubt anyone in Six will admit to its existence, but it's there all right. The remote trigger to begin the countdown which gutted that hotel six weeks ago came from somewhere in London, while the person who arranged and ordered it must have been a member of our government, and this same person is high up in Nightingale .. in the upper echelons of the organisation."

"You're saying it was Blake?"

"It looks like it. That's what Athol told me. He's managed to bug Blake's bedroom and his private office, so he's been able to listen in to most of his private conversations during the past four months."

"If he's managed to do that, then he can't be as thick as you suggest." Harry contemplated his drink before he continued. "Blake implied to me that Carstairs had planted the device which was meant for him when he'd sent him into his bedroom to get a mobile phone."

"Yeah, well, that sounds like Blake is trying to pin the attempt on his life on Athol Keating. Athol suspected he might. Athol was worried that Blake was on to him. He's a slimy customer."

"He's a politician."

"What surprises me," Lucas continued, "is that Ruth hasn't yet dug up any of this .. the truth about Blake. Nothing much gets past her."

Privately, Harry had been thinking the same thing. "She's been .. looking into his immediate past activities," he said, more to say something than to inform.

Harry walked home in the rain. For once he enjoyed the comforting sound of the rain as it thudded onto his umbrella, washing away his worries and fears, his doubts about the way in which he'd directed his team. He hadn't asked Lucas if he'd discovered who it was trying to kill Blake, but it hardly mattered. Whoever they were, they were not about to give up after one near miss. The organisation to which Nicholas Blake belonged, and in which he was a kingpin, had been responsible for almost killing Ros Myers. It was going to be some time before Ros was well enough and strong enough to return to work, and he missed her presence as his section chief. By the time Harry arrived at his own front door his shoes and the bottoms of his trousers were soaked, and he'd decided that he wasn't about to get between Nicholas Blake and his killers. The country would be better off with one less traitor. However, there was one section head at Six he considered most likely to have sanctioned the order to kill Nicholas Blake, and he needed to chat with him.

Once inside his house Harry poured himself a single malt and sat in front of the gas fire in the living room in an attempt to dry off. Once he'd finished his drink he rinsed the glass under the tap in the kitchen, and then climbed the stairs to the bathroom. He undressed, draping his clothes over a chair, used the toilet, and then stepped under the shower, the water as hot as he could tolerate, soothing his tired and battered body. His shoulder no longer ached, but he'd taken a couple of painkillers when he'd arrived home from meeting Lucas. Turning off the bathroom light, Harry entered his bedroom - still naked - and crawled into bed beside Ruth, who was in a deep sleep. He kissed her cheek, rolled over and closed his eyes. Within minutes he too was asleep.

* * *

Ruth was first to wake in the morning. She slid out of bed so as to not wake Harry, used the toilet, washed, flung on a dressing gown and then padded downstairs to make a cup of tea. Something had been bothering her about the whole situation surrounding Nicholas Blake, and she knew that the solution sat just out of her reach, like it was hiding in another room. She sat staring out the kitchen window at the darkened, early morning sky. There was intermittent drizzle, and judging by the clothes Harry had left in the bathroom, he had been out in the weather the previous evening. Of course she was curious about what he'd been up to, but she expected him to tell her once he was awake.

She allowed her mind to wander through her findings from the day before. It was becoming clear to her that Blake was an integral part of Nightingale, and by his silence on the matter, she suspected that Harry had also come to the same conclusion. She was sure the answer to the attempt on Blake's life lay with Athol Keating. He was not behind the attempt on Blake's life, but it appeared to her that his rapid elevation from returned soldier to being one of Nicholas Blake's most trusted security staff – the one guarding the man's bedroom, no less - had occurred a little too smoothly and quickly. He had had help in finding his way into Blake's personal space, and no doubt he was to be paid for whatever he discovered while in close proximity to the former Home Secretary.

It was still pre-dawn, so Ruth headed back to the bedroom and crept into bed beside Harry, who was turned towards her, breathing softly, his lips in full pout. Ruth couldn't help herself, She leaned across and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Harry's response was unexpected. He let out an `Aggh', and pulled away from her, scrubbing his lips with the back of his hand, and then as he was about to spit, Ruth spoke. "Harry, it's me. I was kissing you." Even though their intimate life was only six weeks old, Ruth was already familiar with Harry's odd dreaming life, as well as his occasional nightmares.

With her gentle words, Harry turned to look at her. He immediately calmed. "I was dreaming," he said, his voice croaky from sleep. "There was this camel, and it was about to kiss me."

"I hope I kiss better than a camel."

Ruth words brought a smile to Harry's face. He leaned across, stopping when his face was close to hers. "I'd like to test that."

"How many camels have you kissed, Harry?"

"You'd be surprised," and then he closed the gap between them as he kissed her.

It had been well over a week since they'd last made love, so the combination of early morning, a deep and restful sleep, a darkened room, and Harry already being naked led to them lying close to one another under the duvet while Harry's lips explored Ruth's neck and throat, as his hands busily removed her pyjamas, leaving him free to caress her bare skin. "Now we have a level playing field," he said as he slid Ruth's pyjama bottoms over her hips and down her legs. When he thrust his hips against her naked thigh so that his hardening cock slid over the skin of her belly, Ruth knew they were about to be late for work.

With minimal foreplay he hovered over her, his weight resting on his elbows, the pain in his shoulder being pushed to the recesses of his consciousness. Then once she lifted her hips to meet him he slid into her. They were good at this. Even during those times when they were desperate for one another they always began slowly, their eyes each locked on the other. "Your shoulder," Ruth said, noting the colourful bruise across his left shoulder, brushing her fingers across the broken skin.

"Can't feel a thing," he replied.

"But -", and he kissed her to stop her talking. To talk about it was to make the pain real, and for these brief moments together there was no pain, only joy.

Then at Ruth's insistence he sped up until they reached the moment when there were only the two of them alive on earth. They heard no slapping of skin against skin, or the breathy sounds they each made, gasps and grunts and gentle cries of delight. It was just the two of them, moving together – faster and faster - until the release they'd both been seeking rippled through them, from her to him and then back again.

It was only when Harry had rolled onto his back that his shoulder began to ache – not a lot, but enough to be irritating. He sighed heavily, and with his good arm he drew Ruth close to him and kissed her temple.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

"A bit."

"More than a bit. I can tell."

Eventually Harry curled against her and fell into a light slumber. Ruth, feeling concerned and loving, as she usually did after sex, snuggled into his embrace and closed her eyes.

* * *

Once Ruth had showered and dressed for the day she headed downstairs, where Harry was cooking sausages, bacon and eggs for breakfast. Ruth wrinkled her nose, finding the meaty odours overpowering.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I think I'll settle for just tea and toast."

Suddenly Harry's face changed – from playful to serious. "Ruth, you're not ..."

"Not what? Hungry?"

"I meant .. you're not .. pregnant, are you?"

Ruth turned quickly from where she was spooning tea leaves into the pot. "How can I possibly be pregnant when I'm on the pill?"

"Oh right, of course. I forgot."

Harry was still fiddling with the metal tongs when she brought the teapot and two cups to the table. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, turning back to his fry up.

"Harry .. look at me." He turned again to meet Ruth's eyes. "Are you .. disappointed? Is that what this is about?"

Carefully he turned off the gas, placed two sausages, a rasher of bacon and an egg on a plate for himself, and then covered the pan with a lid, before taking his plate to the chair opposite Ruth while she poured them each a cup of tea. "I .. just for a second there I was .. overjoyed. But don't take that too seriously, Ruth. I know how old I am, and that you'd never consider such a thing without first discussing it with me."

"That's true. I wouldn't."

"I like the idea of more children, but the reality is .. far from easy. I think I was reacting to the idea that my swimmers might still be potent." Ruth burst out laughing, holding her hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she smiled up at him, loving him even more than she had a half hour earlier. "It's just that of all things we might be discussing over breakfast I hadn't expected to be talking about your sperm count … which I am sure is just fine." Harry began tucking into his heart-attack-on-a-plate, attempting to put the idea of them becoming parents out of his head. Ruth was right. It was a ridiculous idea. When he looked up from his plate, she was watching him. "We've only been together five minutes, Harry. We can't be making these kinds of decisions at this early stage."

"I know. And we can't discuss work until we're in the car, so ..."

It was something they'd decided, once they began seeing one another away from work. They would leave discussions about work at work, but sometimes the boundary between work and home life blurred. And sometimes Ruth was just too darned curious to wait until they were in the car on the way to work. "When you went out last night, was that work?"

"How did you know?"

"The suit you wore yesterday was in the bathroom, and your shoes were soaked."

Harry smiled at her keen observations. "Lucas rang me, asking me to meet him at the Grenadier."

"Was it social, or ..?"

"It was about the case. Ruth, just for this morning, I think we can discuss the current operation. I'm afraid that if we don't you'll spontaneously ignite from pent up curiosity."

"Then let me tell you what I've surmised. Up here for thinking," she said, tapping her temple with one finger.

"Go on."

"I think that Athol Keating is the key to this, and whoever it was got him his job on Blake's staff is behind the attempt on... What?" she said, seeing the wide smile soften Harry's face.

"You don't even need the internet, Ruth. Your instincts are more powerful than Google and Microsoft combined."

"High praise," she said quietly, sipping her tea.

"You'll find out more when we get to Thames House, but you're so close it's scary."

"Tell me again how wonderful I am. I can be quite insecure."

Harry again smiled at her, and then began cutting his second sausage into segments. "Patience, my love. The rest of the story must wait until the team meeting."

"You're such a bastard, Harry."

"Maybe, but you love me, right?"

"You're a lovable bastard."

"Good," he said, "The meeting is in just over an hour."


	6. Chapter 6

The team meeting didn't begin until Lucas arrived at just after 9.20. Harry was already tetchy, threatening to begin without Lucas, when Ruth reminded him that Lucas was the one who knew Keating, and so had all the information.

"Sorry I'm late," Lucas said breathlessly as he entered the meeting room, and then sat opposite Ruth.

Harry lifted his left wrist in an exaggerated manner to check his watch, and then glared at Lucas. "Please don't tell me you slept in," he said.

"I won't. It's Ros. I go around to hers each morning to help her out of bed, and then downstairs. Sometimes I even make her breakfast. This morning she was especially .. difficult."

Harry immediately relaxed. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Since she came home from hospital. She has no-one else, and she's too stubborn to pay a nurse."

"That's not good enough," Harry said quietly. "Can't she be convinced? Surely the service can provide a nurse for her."

"She was offered one, and she refused it. The nurse turned up anyway, and Ros wouldn't let her in, threatening to call the police."

Harry sighed, running both palms down his face. "What would happen were you to simply not turn up?" he asked Lucas.

"I tried that .. earlier this week. She rang me every ten minutes on my work phone. She knows I never turn off that phone."

"I'll have another talk to her, then."

"Good luck with that," Lucas replied.

From Harry's perspective the niceties had been said. It was time to crack on. Ruth smiled across the table, hoping to convey some support and solidarity to Lucas.

* * *

In the end the meeting was rather brief. Dimitri was in the field keeping his eye on a group of Iranian men who had been reported as `acting in a threatening manner' towards other residents of the tower block where they lived. He was living temporarily in one of the flats on the same floor as the three Iraninan men, and he would only be reporting back to the Grid on completion of his surveillance. Just prior to the meeting Ruth had checked her search and what she found confirmed her suspicions about Blake. She quickly joined Harry in his office, outlining her findings. "Lucas has discovered something similar .. from Athol Keating. All roads lead to Blake," he said.

Lucas was about to deliver his report on everything he'd gleaned from his talks with Athol Keating, when Tariq interrupted the meeting, bursting through the doors saying, "This is way cool."

Harry looked up, his forehead furrowed with irritation. Ruth stepped in with a quick response. "Tariq, what is it?"

"I knew all about Athol Keating because Lucas already told me. It's just that no-one had yet found the source of his extra income, or the income itself."

Everyone waited while he sat down somewhat untidily in a chair beside Ruth. "Do tell, Tariq," Harry said sarcastically.

"I was frustrated by not finding any money other than from his security work and his part-pension from the army, so I checked out his family history, and there it was. The answer was staring me in the face, like a -"

Harry sat up and leaned forward. Just as he was about to speak Ruth caught his eye and so he backed down.

"He has an account in the name of his older brother – Gareth Adam Keating. Gareth Keating died from meningitis at the age of 4, when Athol was only 2. Athol has been using his brother's details as another of his identities. The money paid to him for providing information on Blake was paid into that account."

"The source account?" Lucas asked, already suspecting the answer.

"It's a Swiss bank account, named after some Greek dude - Harpocrates."

"God of secrecy and silence," Ruth stated quietly.

"It was impossible to hack into," Tariq continued, "but I was able to identify the codes used by the signatories, one of whom is Leighton Cox -"

"From Six," Lucas breathed, sitting back in his chair. "You've beaten me to it, Tariq." While mildly irritated, Lucas was also relieved to not have to deliver the report of his own findings to the meeting.

"So it confirms what you already know, Lucas," said Harry, "and what Ruth can confirm through a search she set up overnight." Lucas nodded. "Good work, Tariq," Harry added, and the young man beamed under his praise.

* * *

Again Harry and Ruth were alone in the meeting room, as Lucas had left to write his report, and Tariq had more searches to check and collate.

"I feel a bit flat," Ruth said, staring at the sheets of paper on the table in front of her.

"Because the excitement is over?" Ruth looked at Harry then, and nodded. "Whilst the Blake operation is over for us -"

"It's over? You want us to leave it like that?"

"I do. I'd already made an appointment with Leighton Cox for 2 o'clock today, so it's timely to learn that he's a signatory to the account which has been paying Athol Keating. Naturally he wants me to meet him on his patch – in his office at Vauxhall Cross."

"Do you expect he'll spill the beans?"

"No," Harry said. "I just want him to know .. that I know what he's been up to."

Ruth smiled into his eyes. Had she been sitting closer to him she would have touched his arm. "How do you expect him to react?"

"The same way I'd react. He'll deny everything, and then offer me tea."

"With what Tariq found we have enough proof."

"Proof which we don't need," Harry said curtly. "I just want to see Leighton's face when I tell him that we've found the secret bank account from which Keating was paid. I want to see the bastard squirm."

* * *

Harry was led into the office of Leighton Cox by Cox's secretary, a woman of around 40, with shoulder-length coppery hair, wearing a pencil slim grey skirt which showed off her ample hips and long legs. If he was still acting according to type, Leighton would have chosen the woman himself, and would no doubt have offered her considerable incentive to sleep with him.

"Harry, so good to see you," Leighton boomed as Harry entered his office. Many men of Harry's stature would have felt intimidated by Leighton's height – around six-feet-five – and his build – broad-shouldered, athletic, but gradually going to seed. Until his early forties Leighton had been a brilliant spy, but then had been captured in Iran by some former members of SAVAK, who had kept him under lock and key for six months while they tortured him. He had returned to Britain a broken man, but had rebuilt his life until he was considered the most formidable section head in MI-6. "What can I do for you?" he said, having instructed his secretary, Kim, to bring a pot of tea and two cups.

Harry watched Leighton as his eyes followed the woman from the room. He was sure his focus was on Kim's bottom. "You heard about the attempt on the life of Nicholas Blake," Harry began, with more of a statement than a question.

"Mmm, yes. Terrible thing."

"Well, the rumour around the security service is that the order came from this office."

Harry was neither shocked nor surprised when Leighton burst out laughing, a booming laugh which echoed around the room, bouncing off the brass wall plaques with force enough to shatter the porcelain statues of three wild horses which took pride of place on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Harry had noted the fireplace ornaments – a brass poker, a copper coal scuttle, a set of wooden bellows, and a fire screen made from beaten copper. The man clearly had a thing for fire. Soon after Cox had returned to the UK from Iran the word went around that the method favoured by his torturers had been burning the skin with cigarettes, or a smouldering stick. Perhaps Cox believed in facing his demons head on.

"What gives you that idea?" Cox replied once his laughter had settled.

"There's quite a lot of electronic evidence which supports that conclusion. And we know about the bank account from which your informant was paid. It seems you're connected to that account."

"Ah. That'd be that clever little analyst of yours," Cox said smoothly, staring at Harry through half-closed eyes. "Word is you've been fucking her. Am I right?"

Harry had expected a response such as this; when cornered the snake rears its head and attacks. His relationship with Ruth was no secret, and in the service news travelled at the speed of light." My team are skilled professionals, Leighton. Their private lives are not the issue here."

"So you know about Blake's role in Nightingale?"

"Yes, and I'm here to tell you that should his life again be under threat, I have instructed my team to not intervene."

"And you believe that by telling me this it will be conveyed to the people concerned with .. cancelling Blake's membership?"

"I don't believe. I know."

Their conversation was interrupted by Kim delivering their tea tray, bending and placing it on the low table between Harry and Leighton Cox. As Kim turned and left the room, Harry again noticed Cox's eyes following her, but this time his gaze followed her legs. When he lifted his eyes to look at his guest, Cox narrowed his eyes when he noticed Harry's smirk. "Kim is a damned good secretary," Cox said defensively. "I'd be lost without her."

"I have it on good authority that Nicholas Blake has gone to ground."

"He'd be mad not to," Cox replied, lifting his tea cup to his lips. "Poor bastard has had the shit scared out of him."

"Would you like to know where he is?" Harry was watching Cox's every move. That the man was rattled was clear.

"I have no idea why I'd need to know where he is, Harry. Out of sight, out of mind. May he stay wherever he is. He's a slime of the highest order, but I'm not about to touch him. Unless and until he begins blowing up buildings in Beirut or Baghdad, his activities are not part of my remit."

Harry drew a small card from the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and placed it face down on the low table. "There's an address on that card where he can be found. It's his family's estate in Scotland, and in case you're wondering, Cassandra Blake has flown to Rome with their daughter, Megan. I think the reason given was a shopping trip. Blake is alone in the house."

Harry had carefully watched Cox's eyes since he'd placed the card on the table. The man was practically salivating, his eyes on Harry in an attempt to appear blasé. Harry knew he had him. Cox was part of the group whose job it was to murder Blake. From where Harry sat his job was done. He picked up his cup and saucer and carefully sipped his tea, pretending to examine a print on the wall above Cox's desk. Harry knew that in the second he left the office, Leighton Cox would reach down and grab the card and slip it into his pocket.

As he left the lift on the ground floor of the building Harry made a quick call to Ruth to let her know how the meeting with Leighton Cox had gone, and to tell her he had another errand to run, and would not be back on the Grid until later in the afternoon. As he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket he smiled. It already felt to him like Ruth and he were married, which was perhaps one musing he'd not share with her.

* * *

Harry had not warned Ros of his visit, believing she'd not answer the door were she to know it was him. He waited a couple of minutes while she slowly made her way to the door. "Oh, it's you," she greeted him with an absence of enthusiasm, turning from the door to shuffle back to the sofa, her walking sticks clunking hollowly on the polished wood floor. Harry let himself in and closed the door behind him. "This had better be quick," Ros added, once Harry had sat down across the low table from her, resting his forearms on his knees, his hands loosely linked. "I have to watch the afternoon soaps. I'm gagging to discover if Sherry really fancies Andy or is she just using him, and if Brick and Storm are gay, or are they just good friends."

Harry knew Ros would respond best to him were he to be honest and upfront with her. "That's why I'm here," Harry replied. "I have a proposition to put to you. It's about work."

"I'm not yet ready to work. I can move no faster than a crawl, and in every 24 hours I need to sleep for 12."

"I want you to return to work part time. We need you."

"Well, Harry, unless I can save the world from within these four walls, I can't help you."

Harry waited a moment. He was familiar with Ros's view of the world – her cynicism and her contempt for authority. And those were her better qualities. She was hard and uncompromising and tenacious and proud, and he needed her on his team, her limitations notwithstanding. "I'll provide whatever you need – security, technology, a video hook-up, an assistant – if you can work in your own home for as long as you are able. If you continue to sit here watching daytime TV, you'll not be fit for anything. I want you back at work now, but I'll wait. In the meantime, you need to contribute."

While he'd been speaking Ros had watched him, her face a mask. "Have you finished?" she asked, lifting one eyebrow. When Harry nodded she sighed heavily, breaking eye contact. "I'd almost resigned myself to being an invalid for the rest of my days."

Harry heard the seriousness colouring her tone. "Which is why you have to return to work now. You're wallowing -" He noticed Ros open her mouth to object, so he continued. "Not only that, you're taking advantage of Lucas, and I need him to be present in mind as well as body. Your feeling sorry for yourself is not helpful .. to you or anyone else. Your life was spared for a reason, Ros, so the very least you can do is to be grateful for that, and determined to do something with the life you've been given."

Ros responded by pursing her lips and staring unblinking at Harry. "That's some speech, even for you," she said.

"I'm not looking for an answer now, but you need to be doing something which makes you feel valued."

"I'm making Lucas jump to my tune. That's a skill, and makes me feel rather good about myself."

"And it's cruel. You're perfectly capable of looking after yourself, Ros." For a moment Harry broke eye contact. "I have a question .. about Lucas. Are you and he …?"

"We're friends with benefits. I'm still not totally over Adam, so I'm not … free .. _here,_ " she said, laying a hand over her heart.

"And people say you have no heart," Harry said quietly. "Go easy on him, all right? He's eager to please you -" When Ros began laughing, he stopped mid-sentence. "What's so funny?"

"You, Harry. You and your boys' club. Lucas is capricious. He loves the woman who smiles at him and bats her eyelids, and then invites him to her bed. With someone like me, who won't play that stupid game, he feels the need to please me until I surrender to his charms. What he doesn't know is that I never will, not while I'm still grieving for Adam .. and then there's Jo." Ros broke eye contact and continued very quietly, so that Harry barely heard her. "It's not easy being me."

Harry was aware that Ros had just opened up to him, and that he had best respect that. Perhaps she was disappointed that she had survived the bombing. Perhaps on that day six weeks earlier she had gone to the hotel expecting .. hoping she'd die in the explosion. Harry understood that. There had been many terribly grim moments in his own life when he had contemplated taking the very risks which would have ensured he'd not have come out alive. Against all the odds he was still alive, as was Ros. He had something to live for. He had persisted and been blessed with a job which gave him purpose and focus, and a woman he loved dearly. All he wanted was for Ros to feel similarly favoured. "You are here for a reason, Ros. I know you are. All I'm offering you is a way back into the world of your work. You were so very good at it."

Ros looked away, and for a very long moment she stared at the wall between the living room and the kitchen. Then she sighed heavily and turned back to Harry. He was not intimidated by the look she gave him. "All right. I'll think about it."

Harry knew that her response was as good as a yes. He had reached across the icy pond where she was stranded, and she had grasped his hand. The rest would be up to her.

* * *

By the time Harry made it back to the Grid it was already after 5.30, and only Tariq and Lucas were still at work. Harry glanced in the direction of Ruth's desk, but it was clear she had left for the day. By her standards her desk was tidy, and her bag and coat had gone. Harry felt a pair of eyes on his, and he turned to see Lucas watching him. "She left around twenty minutes ago," Lucas said quietly. "She said something about not wanting to begin a new search so late in the day. I think she's still looking into the Nightingale network, just in case any of our current political .. leaders are involved."

Harry twisted his lips and nodded. "Did she say where she was going?" No sooner had he spoken the words than Harry wanted them back. They gave away far too much, and while Lucas was his acting Section Chief, sharing confidences was not part of their relationship.

Lucas shrugged, and looked about to say something, and then changed his mind. "Just that she was going … home." And then Lucas said something he'd not normally say .. certainly not to Harry. "She didn't say whose home."

"Right," Harry said, nodding to Lucas, and then turning and heading to his office. To ring Ruth, or to give her some space? That was the question.


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N : M-ish content here also. Thanks to readers and reviewers. This story is now 10 chapters in length.  
_**

* * *

Harry enjoyed driving. The freedom to be had from being cocooned inside one's own bubble while moving through the world, utterly detached and relatively safe, had a peculiar calming effect on him. For these few short minutes – less than an hour – he was in control of the circumstances of his life. It appeared to him that the traffic avoided him, and terrorism was something which happened elsewhere. His shoulder was still painful, but it was a pain which served to remind him that he lived, and he lived hard, and that he was no longer a young man. For much of his adult life he had lived with some degree of pain. His pain never let him forget that he was mortal, and so perhaps also fragile. What he needed was to see Ruth, to hold her close, and and to have her hold him. He also suspected he needed her more than she needed him. They were both loners, and how they planned to manage their separate needs for solitude in a long term relationship was a subject they had not yet broached, although they must. Harry leaned across to where his mobile phone rested in its cradle on the dashboard, and he pressed Ruth's number. "Do you want a visitor?" he asked once she answered his call.

"So long as it's you," she replied, her voice lightening. "I couldn't bear to see anyone else."

"I'll stop on the way and pick up dinner .. if that's all right with you."

"That's very all right with me, Harry."

"How does Indian sound?"

"It sounds wonderful. You know what I like."

He did, of course. She liked Madras lamb curry, while as always, he'd have the butter chicken. By the time he ended the call Harry felt lighter in his being than he had in some time. Her early departure from the Grid had worried him. Ruth didn't take early minutes. Aside from Tariq, she was first at work in the morning, and last to leave in the evening. Harry told himself that she did that to be near him, and maybe there was a truth in that, but Ruth also enjoyed working. He suspected that something had happened to take the shine from Ruth's working day. He hoped that it was nothing he had done.

While he was waiting at the Indian restaurant for his order to be filled Harry allowed his mind to wander back six weeks to the first time he and Ruth had become intimate. Afterwards they had been very proud of themselves. Ruth had snuggled against his side, and he'd been aware he was grinning like a fool.

"Aren't we clever?" Ruth had said, her breath tickling him under the arm he had wrapped around her.

"I was sure that it was never going to happen," he replied.

"Why? You're a man, and I'm a woman, and well .. certain things are inevitable."

"We've been a man and a woman for a long time, Ruth. It was looking less inevitable by the day."

Harry had then felt Ruth's lips kiss his chest just above his left nipple. Her touch had sent a shiver through him so that he turned on his side and looked into her eyes. "Ruth," he said quietly, not sure whether he'd be brave enough – and foolish enough - to get the words out. "I was wondering .. although I know this is probably not the right time, or even the right thing to be asking you -"

"He wasn't," she said, equally as quietly. "He wasn't like you .. in bed. You are so much gentler."

Harry had pulled back a little, chiefly so he could better see her. "How did you know .. what I was thinking?"

Ruth had playfully placed a finger on his lips, a gesture to which he'd automatically reacted by pursing his lips against her finger. "I know everything you're thinking, Harry."

"Hopefully not everything. It's best you don't know .. some of what I think about."

"How would you feel were I to ask how I stacked up against your ex-wife, or .. any of your former lovers?"

"You make it sound like there were hundreds of them."

"Were there?"

"Of course not. The secret service is rife with rumour. In no time at all the truth becomes lost."

"All you need to know, Harry, is that you were wonderful .. _are_ wonderful. You are the perfect lover .. for me."

He'd watched her closely, just in case she was fibbing. "Thank you, and I'm sorry for thinking .. what I was thinking. It was unfair of me."

"Perhaps, but it was also human to speculate."

They had left the discussion there, and neither had since brought up the subject of George, but Harry was still curious. He knew he had no right to be asking, and she had no need to answer, but his curiosity had remained. Had George been amazing in bed, and did she miss his touch? Just thinking that thought had lifted the lid of the box in which he hid his insecurity, allowing it to pump through his body like adrenalin, convincing him he was far too old, beaten and broken for a woman like Ruth. He'd watch her with Lucas or Dimitri or Tariq, and she appeared so relaxed and happy, while with him she was so often careful, even anxious. Did _he_ do that to her? Was he so .. _difficult_ that she had to tread carefully around with him? If so, what was the matter with him?

When he arrived at Ruth's flat she let him in, closing the door behind him, while he placed the bag carrying the Indian meal on the hall table and removed his coat. When he turned back to her she was standing very close to him. He watched her, willing her to make the first move. Without a word Ruth reached up to grasp the lapels of his jacket, and pulled him to her, lifting her face for a kiss. His arms enveloped her and drew her against him before he kissed her thoroughly. This was nice. She was warm, and her flat, while hardly a palace, felt comfortable and inviting. He allowed his hands to rest on her bum, and he pressed against the softness of her buttocks, pulling her into him. They fit together so very well, and he could already feel the stirring of his own flesh. Slowly and carefully he pulled away from her. "We should eat first," he said, so setting a goal for the evening.

Over dinner they again put aside the no-work-discussions-at-home rule. "I have to ask you something, Ruth. It's about Ros." Harry noticed the small `tell' that fluttered free from Ruth's calm demeanour at the mention of Ros. "I've suggested she work from home, beginning as soon as possible."

"But she's a field agent, Harry, and a very good one."

"So she'll have to adapt. She's losing her mind at home. I was wondering ..."

"You're asking me to organise something for her .. laptop, VPN, and a list of daily tasks."

"Yes. If you wouldn't mind. I trust you."

"I know you do. I can .. and I can take it around to her and explain her new job to her."

Harry waited, watching Ruth's face. It was when she smiled that he allowed himself to relax. "If you're sure," he said quietly.

"I am. I .. need to do this."

He nodded. "Yes. You do." With that out of the way, Harry had to address one more thing. "Is there something else?" he asked carefully, his eyes flicking up nervously, and then back to his plate of food. "It's just that you left work early .. at least, early for you."

Ruth's eyes darted upwards, but he was focused upon moving his food around the plate with his fork. "Not really. I just needed to get out of there. I had a moment when I couldn't bear that we are sitting back and doing nothing while waiting for a man to be murdered. I do understand why, and I know what he's done, and probably still capable of doing, but ... I had a moment where I needed to be … somewhere else. That's all."

Harry lifted his eyes and nodded his understanding. "That makes sense. I'd been worried that you might be annoyed .. with me."

"I understand what you have to do, Harry, and I'm not annoyed with you .. at least, no more than usual." Her smile told him that she was not being altogether serious, and he sighed his relief. "There is something I need to say, though." With those few words from her, Harry's smile disappeared. "I need you to keep me in the loop. No more trying to protect me. If, as it appears, everybody in the world of security knows about us, keeping me in the dark is hardly an act of loving protection. I need to know what is going on .." She tapped her forehead, ".. up there. Your decisions affect me, so I need to know what you're thinking."

"Of course," he replied, and that was all that was said on the matter. He would need to become more transparent .. with her, which was something he had not been in any of his relationships with women in the past. The leopard needed to change his spots.

* * *

Meal eaten, and only the dregs left in the bottom of the wine bottle, they sat together on the sofa, the TV turned on but the sound muted. Neither was actually watching the screen, although their eyes were turned in that direction, the flickering images giving them each something external on which to focus whenever watching one another became too intense. Harry stretched both arms, and then rested his arm across the back of the sofa behind Ruth, who giggled at the gesture, commenting that no-one had tried that move on her since she was 14. "And how did it work for the boy in question?" Harry asked, turning his eyes on her.

"Not well. I told him that if he left his arm there it would mess up my hair, so could he please remove it."

Harry nodded and then turned his eyes back to the TV. Since they'd settled on the sofa Ruth's hand had been resting on his leg close to his knee, her fingertips feathering circles on his inner thigh. Over time Ruth's palm moved away from his knee and further up his thigh, as did her fingertips. He thought of his day on the Grid. He thought of the dilemma of Ros' slow recovery from injury. He imagined Lucas helping Ros out of bed and down the stairs. None of those images worked, so he conjured an image of Tariq busy at his work station, but still Ruth's fingers formed small circles over the material of his trousers, the friction sending impulses to his brain which in turn he interpreted as being so pleasurable that he could no longer remain silent. As he let his head rest against the back of the sofa a deep sigh escaped him. With that, Ruth's fingers stilled. "Don't stop," he said. "Please don't stop."

Harry's eyes were closed, so he did not see her reaction, but he felt it. Ruth's fingers renewed their circular motion against his inner thigh, while her other hand slid between the buttons of his shirt, searching for bare skin. He opened his eyes and turned towards her. Her gaze was on him, her mouth turned up in a half smile. He smiled back before reaching down to kiss her. As they pulled out of the kiss one of Ruth's circling fingers glanced across the front of his trousers, and again he sighed deeply.

Having unfastened several of his shirt buttons Ruth reached down and kissed his bare chest, while her wandering hand slid between his legs to cup him. Her actions rid his mind of all conscious thought and intention. He would leave the logistics to her. She clearly had an idea of where they were going, and how they should get there.

"Come upstairs," she said, her mouth close to his ear.

"Breakfast meeting," was all he could say. He hoped she understood what he meant, and that he couldn't stay overnight.

Ruth pulled away a little, a slight frown drawing her eyebrows together. "This won't take that long, Harry. I'll let you leave afterwards."

How was it she could speak in coherent sentences when he barely knew his own name? Were someone to ask him his mother's maiden name, he'd have had to answer with `Smith'.

Within minutes they were lying together on the sofa, their heads resting on the pile of cushions at one end. Harry felt Ruth's fingers unfastening his trouser buttons, then slowly opening the zip before pushing the garment over his hips. Next she slid her fingertips inside the waistband of his trunks. Eyes closed, Harry's whole body felt alive and thrumming. She briefly left his side to remove her own clothing, since he was almost incapable of anything other than responding to her.

When she returned to the sofa she pushed her hips against him and kissed him slowly, both hands cradling the back of his head, and he knew it was time. They made love on the sofa, with Ruth wrapping her legs around him, while he strained to sink himself deeper into her, then faster, the way she liked it. It was at once deeply moving and exhilarating, and neither noticed the late movie, a rerun of "Pearl Harbor", beginning on the TV across the room.

Afterwards Ruth sank against him, while he wrapped his arms around her and rested his head next to hers on the cushions. "I need you to know that I didn't come here tonight expecting sex," he said after they had rested, and once again he had his breath back "I thought we could eat a meal together, engage in a kiss and a cuddle, and then I'd go home."

"Stay," she said, her voice equally as soft as her flesh.

"As much as I don't want to leave you right now, I must. I'm really sorry."

She nodded. She understood. This would not be the last time this would happen.

* * *

Ruth was woken by the ringtone of her phone from inside the pocket of her skirt. She turned over and reached down to grab it from under the pile of clothing beside the sofa. Harry had covered her with the duvet from her bed, so she had slept deeply and warmly. "Good morning sleepy head," Harry said, sounding much too chipper for first thing in the morning.

"What time is it?" she managed to grumble.

"It's almost six. My meeting begins in thirty minutes."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He chuckled into the phone, and despite her irritation with him for waking her, she smiled. "I thought you'd rather hear my voice than that ridiculous alarm tone on your phone."

Several weeks earlier Lucas had `borrowed' her phone, and without her knowledge loaded an alarm tone of a rooster crowing. The first she'd known of it was the next morning at 6.15 when her alarm had sounded, causing her further alarm, and not a lot of amusement. Harry had been staying the night, and he'd turned over in bed saying, "What the fuck was _that_?"

"I'm still on the sofa," Ruth said, having not a lot else to say, especially at such an hour.

"That's good. That was my intention."

"Where are you?"

"I'm being driven to my meeting by my driver."

"Some people have it tough. I'll have to take the tube this morning."

"I was wondering," he began tentatively, "whether I could send my driver to yours after he drops me off."

"Absolutely not! What a waste of taxpayers' money, Harry. Besides, it's probably illegal."

Again Harry laughed lightly into the phone. They had had the same conversation before, and Ruth had always reacted with outrage on behalf of the taxpayer. If only their representatives in government had similar concern over how taxpayers' money was spent. "I just needed to hear your voice," he said, "before I enter the lions' den."

"Well, you've heard it, now I need another ten minutes of shuteye."

"All right. I'll let you go. I love you."

"And I you."

* * *

A little over five miles away Ros Myers had just received a call from Lucas to say he was not free to help her with her morning routine. "I hope she's worth it," Ros replied sarcastically, heaving herself up in bed, and then leaning back against her pillows.

"She's a he and it's work. Dimitri asked me to visit him. He's currently undercover on a housing estate in Wandsworth."

"What do you expect me to do?"  
"What you're eventually going to have to do, Ros. Get out of bed, get dressed -"

"All right, if you insist, but if I find you've been lying -"

"I'm not lying. You can ask Dimitri. He's in the next room."

"I'll pass on that. Thanks for letting me know, Lucas."

"I'll come by later this evening."

"Don't bother. I'll be too busy being independent. Chances are I'll be out clubbing."

Lucas said goodbye and quickly ended the call, turning to face Dimitri, who had entered the living room from the dark, poky kitchen, a mug of coffee in each hand. "White with two," Dimitri said, handing Lucas the mug which was least chipped, although the slogan on one side read, `Father of the Year'.

"I take it you're not referring to that loud mouth downstairs who lives with the two women."

Dimitri smiled over the rim of his mug, and then took a tentative sip of his coffee. "So you've met Terry Noakes."  
"Not met, no. I just heard him shouting something about anyone not born in Britain needs to go back to where they came from."

"He's the welcoming committee for this housing estate. I've been here four days, and the Iranians are not the problem, but Noakes definitely is."

"So it's a domestic problem," Lucas said, already disinterested. "The housing authorities either move the Iranians or they move Noakes."

"Noakes won't move, and he's threatening to bomb the flat where the Iranian men live."

"Which is where?"

Dimitri tipped his head to the right. "Next door."

"To you?"

"Uh huh. I'm planning to pay Noakes a visit to ... shake him up a bit. Do you want to join me?"

Over the top of his coffee mug Lucas grinned. Do one-legged ducks swim in circles?


	8. Chapter 8

2 days later – Monday:

"Nice place you have here." Ruth looked around the spacious ground floor living area in Ros Myers' flat.

"Nice or not, it can still feel like a prison."

"It's a palace compared with the flat I've been in for the past year."

"You need to get Harry onto it. I'm sure he can pull a few strings," Ros replied, temporarily forgetting that Ruth would not appreciate the observation.

"It's a safe house, or it was. Harry believes I'm safe there."

"Safe, but not comfortable," Ros commented, carefully lowering herself on to the sofa. "I know which I'd prefer."

"You don't value safety?"

"It can be overrated, a bit like love," Ros said, watching Ruth settle on the chair opposite, and then look around for somewhere to put the laptop and the ring folder. "Laptop on the table, and the folder next to it .. where I can reach it," Ros added, pointing to a space she had already cleared on the coffee table.

"I didn't know you were an expert on love, Ros."

"I'm not, but I have experienced it once or twice in my life."

Ruth was not comfortable speaking with Ros about love, but she felt it necessary to be polite, given she was a guest in Ros' home. Such a conversation could become a slippery slope, and there was little Ruth feared more than slippery slopes. She much preferred stable and solid ground, and analysis was about as stable and solid as it got. "Right, now about your tasks .."

Ruth watched while Ros set up the laptop, and then she instructed her in the use each of the programs which she herself had loaded onto the laptop. She then showed her the connections for surveillance of three people – Aaron Zoanetti, Athol Keating, and Leighton Cox."

"Leighton Cox? Isn't this .. _dangerous_?" Ros suggested.

"No more dangerous than heading into a building set with explosives."

"Trust you to be logical about this."

"My job requires logic."

"And occasional flashes of illogical inspiration, which I'm told are the source of your particular brand of genius."

Ruth had no answer for that, so she ignored Ros's comment and continued with the outline of her tasks.

"Why those three?" Ros asked.

"I just assumed you'd know. After all, you spent a whole day researching Matthew Carstairs for Lucas."

"Don't you have all you need on these three?"

"Not quite. If any of these three men heads to the airport there is a link within the CCTV feeds which can pop you right into the CCTV systems at Dundee and Edinburgh airports. We .. think .. that at least one of these three will be the one to visit Scotland with view to murdering Nicholas Blake. My hunch is that it will be Athol Keating. He's just far enough away from Blake to not be a logical suspect. All the `authorities' know about him is that his name is Matthew Carstairs, and for the past eight months he's been a loyal servant of Blake's. Besides, Harry believes that Blake will be poisoned."

"Why doesn't Harry do it himself?"

"Because," Ruth said carefully, not wanting to give too much away about what she knew about what Harry had said, "Leighton Cox is keen to do it himself, or pay someone else to do it. Harry would prefer to .. keep his hands clean."

"And if it ends up being neither of these three?"

"Then my intuition is way off."

Once Ruth was satisfied that Ros knew what was expected of her, she began to pack her things into her bag. It was already late morning and she still had a full day of work ahead of her, so Ros's offer of a coffee surprised her. She and Ros had never been coffee buddies, or – heaven forbid – drinking companions of any kind. Ruth also recognised Ros's offer as an olive branch, and one she needed to accept.

"Thanks," Ruth said. "I'd like that." She looked around, wondering how Ros would manage making coffee on her own. "Would you like me to make it?" she asked.

"I'm not a bloody invalid," Ros snapped, as she hoisted herself off the sofa, and then steadied herself with her walking sticks.

"Why don't you use the Zimmer frame?" Ruth asked, noticing the walking frame against the wall, tucked out of the way in the lee of a cabinet.

"Christ, not you too. Have you and Lucas been plotting?"

"Sorry. It's just that … it's so much easier to use than two sticks." The glare she received from Ros told Ruth to be quiet, and wait for her to make the coffee, even she took the remainder of the morning to make her way to the kitchen.

* * *

Once back on the Grid, Ruth headed directly to her desk. She had only just sat down when her desk phone buzzed. "Ruth, could you come here?" It was Harry. She looked up to see him watching her. Of course he'd want a blow by blow description of her meeting with Ros. She slid open his office door, closing it behind her before she sat in the chair he indicated. As she sat down she sighed. "Hard morning?" Harry asked kindly.

"Not hard exactly .. just strange."

"How did Ros seem to you?" Harry seemed genuinely interested, and his half smile was gently encouraging.

"She was .. angry. Very angry."

"That's understandable, given the state of her injuries."

"As much as her anger .. scares me, I understand it .. completely. She almost lost her life, and now she can't even work. She loved her work." Ruth looked away for a moment to collect her thoughts. Harry's stare could be confronting and distracting. "Her mobility issues, for a woman like her … I can't imagine how that must be for her. What is her prognosis? I was too afraid to ask."

Harry sat back and sighed. "She is expected to recover, but it may take some months, and it is not known whether she will ever regain full mobility. A lot will depend on her .. attitude."

"Ros doesn't do positivity."

Harry smiled. "No. She fights against it, where she needs to .."

" _Accept_ it? That's a big ask, Harry."

"I know." He fiddled with the edge of the mouse pad on his desk before he continued. "I thought you and she might ..."

" _Bond_?" Ruth almost spat the word.

"No, bond is too .. close. I hoped you might find .. common ground."

Ruth felt her hackles rise, and Harry noticed the flare in her eyes. "You want me to .. what … _counsel_ her? _Oh, I've lost my whole family, so I know how you feel._ She'll hardly buy that."

For a very long moment Harry watched her. Ruth could see he was weighing his thoughts before he shared them with her. "I'm sorry. I thought you might perhaps talk about your pasts .. with one another."

"Talking about our separate pasts is something we will never do, Harry. She lost her father to the prison system, she lost Adam and Zaf, she's lost Jo, and now she's lost the full use of her legs. She's hardly going to want to talk about it, and especially to me. As for my losses, I can't even talk about them to you, so how can I possibly … chat about it to Ros?"

Harry was flummoxed. Only Ruth could do this to him. Were she anyone else on his team he'd know what to say and how best to react. He was sure that anything he said to her would result in her anger, and her pulling herself back into that dark cupboard inside which she'd hidden during the early months following George's death. He couldn't let that happen again. He watched powerless as Ruth stood up and left his office, deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. His eyes followed her as she crossed the Grid floor to her desk, sat in her chair and then woke up her monitor with the mouse. Not once did she look his way.

Harry sat motionless for another five minutes, and then he acted. _Fuck this_ , he thought. For the moment he would leave her be, but he was not about to allow this to drive a wedge between them. When he was hurt or angry or in need of thinking time, he headed outside the building to the Thames embankment.

* * *

Ruth hadn't seen Harry leaving the Grid. Ten minutes after she'd flounced out of his office she'd calmed down. She was keeping her mind occupied by trawling through GCHQ terror threat reports when her mobile phone rang.

"Guess what?"

"Ros. You have news?"

"As challenging as I'm finding this work, it's also .. surprisingly rewarding. Now I know why Tariq sleeps at his desk and never leaves work. I'm sure this is even better than stalking someone in person."

"Which you've done, I take it."

"Only in a purely professional capacity. I have two of them heading for the airport. Cox and Keating."

"Together? The same airport?"

"Cox is clearly on his way to Gatwick, while Keating is already at Docklands."

"London City Airport?"

"Yes. By the time we end this call he'll probably have boarded."

"Ros .. can you check the flight lists? Begin with EasyJet out of London City. I think Keating is most likely to travel as Matthew Carstairs, especially as he's `visiting' his employer."

"Consider it done." _Consider it done_? Was this really Ros? "Oh, and Ruth ..."

"Yes?"

"For the first time since the hotel imploded around me, I'm enjoying myself."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that." Long after Ros ended the call, Ruth still held her phone to her ear. Was this the same Ros who only that morning had been angry with the world in general?

Ruth returned to her work, losing herself in it, while a small part of her conscious mind tossed around her conversations with Ros and then Harry. What was wrong with her that she'd stormed out of Harry's office, offended with him because he'd spoken the truth? She looked up to see his office empty. Checking the time on her monitor, over an hour had passed since she'd left his office. Ruth reached out to grab her phone to ring Harry when the screen lit up and the phone vibrated.

* * *

He knew he needed to get back to work, but Harry also knew he'd not be much use at work until he'd spoken to Ruth. He'd invited her to share a sandwich with him, and she'd accepted. He returned his phone to the inside pocket of his jacket, and then sat back and waited for her to join him. He was gazing towards the river, gun metal grey to match the Houses of Parliament and the cloud cover, when he heard her approach and sit beside him. He turned to smile at her, and his heart leaped a little to see a soft smile on her lips, a smile which reached her eyes. "Hi," he said quietly, sitting up straight. "Chicken and lettuce, or chicken, lettuce, beetroot and avocado?" He knew what her answer would be, and sure enough, she made a face at the mention of beetroot. As he passed Ruth the paper bag with the chicken and lettuce sandwich, he felt her fingers wrap around his own, stilling his hand for a moment longer than necessary. He glanced up to see her eyes on him, an apology in them. "It's all right, Ruth. I do understand."

"I was awful to you .. and I'm sorry. I had no right to take it out on you."

Harry wasn't about to disagree with her. He squeezed her fingers and removed his hand from hers. As he began to unwrap his own sandwich he felt her slide a little closer to him, until their thighs touched. He knew her emotions were often turbulent and out of her control. He knew that despite her loving him as she did, she had still to grieve George's death and her loss of contact with Nico. He knew that, and he acknowledged how hard it was for him to accept what he knew, but he'd lived without Ruth in his life, and he'd much rather have her with him and still grieving the death of another man than to not have her in his life at all.

He reached out with his hand and gently touched her cheek with his knuckles. When she turned her eyes to him he saw the love in them, and he sighed – this time with relief – before he turned his attention to his own sandwich. They ate in near silence, only commenting about their food and the state of the weather. "I think it might rain," he observed.

"Of course it will. It's London."

Harry turned to her to see that she'd finished her lunch, having scrunched up the wrapping and stuffed it into the bag. She was gazing across the water, as he had been when she first arrived. "We have to have a proper talk, Ruth. We're always .. tired, or -"

"- having sex."

Harry threw back his head and laughed. There was a truth to that. What little time they had together was spent sleeping because they were so tired, or on the rare occasions they were not tired they had sex. It wasn't such a bad arrangement, but it left them with little time for real conversations. "We need to make time for some .."

".. heart to heart stuff – I know." Ruth turned to him then. "I heard from Ros. It appears that Keating is on his way to Scotland. She'll get back to me when she knows more."Now I'll have to find other tasks for her." Harry nodded. He was already planning how they would fit an uninterrupted heart to heart conversation into their busy schedules. They sat in silence for a few minutes more. "Harry .. what if all we have is sex? What do we do then?"

Ruth's eyes were wide as she watched him, waiting for his answer. "You know that's not true," he said, and then turned to once more stare out over the river as a grubby-looking tug boat chugged by. He quickly pushed away the memory which emerged.

"But what if it is?"

Harry turned to her and stared into her eyes, gazing deeply into her, almost through her. "Then what was it drew us together in the first place? What was it kept the spark alive for the three years you were away? What is it ensures we work so well together? The term `well oiled machine' comes to mind. We are so much more than sex, Ruth, although the sex _is_ rather good."

His comment brought a smile to Ruth's lips. "Just _rather_ good? I thought we were better than that."

"Exceptionally good? Remarkably good?"

"I was thinking spectacular."

He watched her, smiling at her animated face, her lips curling in a private smile .. a smile just for him. "I love you," he said, before he leaned in as if about to kiss her.

"Harry! We're a work." Ruth pulled away from him, one hand on his chest, her expression one of mild shock.

"We're on our lunch break. The no-kissing-at-work rule doesn't apply during lunch."

"Even when we have lunch together at my desk on the Grid?"

Harry nodded, smiling. He leaned back against the bench and again stared across the river. "I've been meaning to show you this," he said, reaching into an outside pocket of his jacket, and pulling out several sheets of A4 paper, which he opened and handed to Ruth.

She quickly looked at each page, and then looked up at him. "What is this?" she asked.

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like Adam Carter's flat at Canary Wharf."

"It is. In the two or so years since Adam died it's been rented, but now it's for sale. I was contacted this morning by the solicitor representing Wes's interests. Apparently Adam bought the flat for he and Wes with an inheritance Fiona received just months prior to her death. Wes's grandparents have requested that the flat be sold and the money from the sale invested on Wes's behalf. I have first option on the sale, a request made by Adam in his will." Harry sat back and watched Ruth.

"So you're planning to buy it? It must cost a mint."

"It's not cheap, no, but I thought I might. I have my own inheritance money from when my father died, so I thought ..."

"Then what?"

"It depends on you, Ruth, although the obvious solution is for you to live there. Anything to get you out of that awful safe house."

"But I thought you were happy with me living there."

"Only because I was under the illusion that you liked living there." Harry knew that she was stalling. She wanted to be outraged, but she also liked the idea of living in Adam's flat. "You won't have to pay rent. Just the utilities."

Her eyes darted up to meet his. "I can't let you .. _keep_ me. I can't be a _kept woman_."

"Let me do something for you, Ruth. Let me give you this."

"And what happens if we break up?"

"How likely do you think that might be?"

Ruth waited a few moments before replying. "I hope it's unlikely, but we don't know what the future holds."

They sat in silence for some minutes while they each contemplated Harry's offer. "I'm buying it anyway," he said at last, "whether you live in it or not. It might make a nice place for us to live in when we ..."

"What?" Ruth turned her eyes to him, challenging him.

"If and when we move in together," he said, quietly and calmly. When Ruth didn't object, he decided to keep going. "I see it as a much safer house than the one you're in now."

"I suppose so." Ruth was again contemplating the Thames River.

"If you wish to contribute financially, and I want you to know that I have no expectation that you do, you can pay rent at the same rate you're currently paying."

"What's the market rent on the place?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you even care about money, Harry?"

"Not a lot, no."

"The service must pay you well, then."

He reached out to grasp her hand in his, and to his relief she allowed him to envelop her small hand in his. "I suppose they must. As a single man I have quite a lot saved. I haven't had to support a family for some years, and I hardly ever take holidays. I consider that everything I own is yours."

"That's a trifle ..

"What?" He squeezed her hand, just in case she again became outraged and withdrew from his grasp.

"Careless. I have to watch every penny."

"You shouldn't have to live that way, Ruth. I want to .. make your life easier. I'd like you to accept this flat as a gift from me, and if you insist that you pay rent, then I'm not about to stop you."

"All right," she said, squeezing his hand in response.

"You'll accept my gift to you?"

"Perhaps."

"Meaning?"

Ruth dropped his hand and again stared across to the Houses of Parliament. "I have to think about it, Harry. You know I can't be put on the spot like this." Ruth glanced at Harry to see he was smiling, so she quickly looked away, hoping he'd not press her for a solid commitment. Privately she was thrilled. A Canary Wharf flat .. _and_ Harry. What more could a girl want?

Ruth felt Harry lean closer, so she turned again to face him. He appeared to be about to kiss her when her phone rang. She pushed her hand into her coat pocket to retrieve her phone. "It's Ros," she said, before she answered the call. Harry watched her face as she listened to her caller. He loved how animated her face became as she smiled, her eyes alight, then frowned, and lastly twisted her mouth. "That's good news, then, isn't it? Good, good. Let me know. Bye." Ruth looked at her phone's display as she ended the call. Once she'd pocketed the phone she turned to Harry. "That was Ros," she said. "Things are moving."


	9. Chapter 9

Late afternoon – Scotland:

Nicholas Blake checked the time on the grandfather clock in the vast office of his ancestral home, a room where he had watched both his grandfather and his father sitting behind the walnut desk, looking incredibly important and out of reach. At just after 5 pm, not only was the sun well past the yardarm, but it was hurtling at full tilt towards the horizon. He could find no reason at all why he shouldn't pour himself a drink. Cassandra would say that he didn't need that drink, did he, and then suggest (somewhat predictably) he go for a walk. Well, Cassandra was in Rome, and he was on the family estate fifty kilometres north of Dundee, and so for once in his life he would do as he pleased.

He was endeavouring to decide between the Glenfiddich and the Dalmore when he heard the front door chimes. Who would visit him out here? Only a handful of people knew where he was, and most of them were members of his security staff. He carefully placed both bottles on the shining surface of the desk, and hurried into the entry hall. Behind the mottled glass he saw a tall figure, probably male. It could have been anyone. Nicholas opened the door, and had never been more surprised. "Come in," he said. "It's good to see you. What brings you all this way?"

His visitor brandished a full bottle of Macallan single malt. "I was in the area, and thought you could do with a decent drink."

Nicholas, still wondering what this man was doing in Scotland, soon overlooked the improbability of him suddenly turning up to share a drink with him in favour of trying the Macallan. "If you can afford this I must be paying you too much," he said, stepping aside to allow his visitor into his home. Maybe his visitor would once more open up about his time spent serving in Iraq. Nicholas enjoyed stories from the front line, so long as he didn't have to be there in person. Not only was his action foolish, but it would be one of his last conscious decisions on earth.

* * *

After what Ruth had shared with him after her phone call from Ros, Harry called a team meeting for 5.30 pm. Lucas and Dimitri were both back on the Grid, Ruth had news from Ros, and Tariq had several financial searches under way, one being a search into the accounts belonging to Terence Gordon Noakes, of 57 Chamberlain House, on the Wandsworth estate.

"Tell us about Noakes," Harry began, looking from Dimitri to Lucas.

Dimitri sat up straight, glancing at Lucas as he did so. "I spent four days on that estate, days I will never get back, only to find that the trouble with the Iranians began and ended with one of the more vocal and opinionated tenants. Oakes. So Lucas and I .. convinced him to keep his opinions to himself."

"I trust you were discreet," Harry said, staring unblinkingly from Dimitri to Lucas.

"We used our legends and left no bruises," Dimitri said, smiling. "Needless to say Noakes was .. eager to please us."

"And?" Harry looked up, lifting one eyebrow.

It was Lucas who filled the others in on the outcome of their `meeting' with Noakes. Being the big bloke he was – and with Noakes being a much smaller bloke - all Lucas had had to do was stand very close to Noakes, peering down at him, while Dimitri circled him, clenching and unclenching his fists. Lucas had to admit that Dimitri's teeth-baring smile had scared even him. They had then done the good-cop-bad-cop routine, with he being the good cop – kind, understanding, conciliatory – while Dimitri had indulged in a bit of shouting in the little shit's face, calling him some rather nasty names. In the end Noakes had crumbled, which had surprised both he and Dimitri. "Just when I was beginning to enjoy myself, too," Dimitri had said once they'd left Noakes' flat.

"Noakes claims to be associated with the BFB – Britain For the British, who are an extreme arm of the BNP which the BNP deny all knowledge of. I'm not so sure," Lucas began.

"Why do you say that?" Ruth asked.

"Noakes is a coward. He stays at home all day while his two female partners work. His neighbours have reported shouting from his flat – all three of them – and Noakes has threatened both woman who live with him, as well as the neighbours either side of him. I suggest his escalating behaviour is a civil matter."

"Perhaps," Harry replied. Feeling Ruth moving slightly from across the corner of the table from him, he turned towards her. "Ruth?"

"It sounds like he is just a .. difficult man, but we still owe it to the safety of his neighbours to check his claims about his affiliation with BFB. With your permission, Harry, I thought I might give Ros the job of doing a background check on him."

Harry nodded. "Anything else, Lucas?" When Lucas shook his head, he turned again to Ruth. "You have a report from Ros."

Ruth nodded, and although before she spoke she consulted the sheets of paper on the table in front of her, she was simply biding time while she organised her thoughts into a logical sequence. "Ros has been keeping me informed on the whereabouts of Leighton Cox, Athol Keating – also known as Matthew Carstairs – and Aaron Zoanetti. Zoanetti hasn't stepped outside his normal routine, so it appears that his role in the attempt on Blake's life was purely one which used his knowledge of current technology. I suspect also that Zoanetti would have discovered rather easily where Nicholas Blake was hiding." She looked meaningfully at Harry, who dipped his head towards her in acknowledgement. She was right, of course, but he still had to let Cox know that he knew what it was he knew. It was, after all, part of the spying game. Same side or not, it would have been remiss of him to have allowed Cox to believe he'd been acting completely under the radar. "Ros discovered that Cox took a flight out of Gatwick for Baghdad, while Keating, flying as Matthew Carstairs, arrived at Dundee earlier this afternoon. He picked up a hire car at the airport, and drove north. That is all she had, but that is enough."

"So Cox is paying Carstairs to off the former HS?" Dimitri said.

"It appears so," Ruth replied. "All we can do now is wait. Ros will let me know when he's on his way back to London."

"And Leighton Cox?" Lucas asked.

"Ros has checked the schedules for meetings in Baghdad," Ruth continued, "and there is nothing – officially, at least – which would draw him there at this time."

"I have someone there who might know what has drawn Cox there." Harry's voice was low and quiet. He had only just remembered Gil Whitford, an aging war correspondent whom he'd first met in Germany over thirty years earlier. "Leave it with me."

* * *

When the meeting ended Harry quickly left and headed to his office, where he immediately put in a call to Gil Whitford in Baghdad. The remainder of his team returned to their desks. Once comfortably seated at her desk, Ruth took her mobile phone from her pocket and called Ros.

"Ruth," Ros answered. "I hope you have more work for me, because I can't do any more on the three names you gave me."

"I have. Maintain surveillance on Athol Keating. We need to know when he flies back to London. The next task for you is to find out all you can about a man called Terry Noakes. Once we end this call I'll message his full name, address and date of birth. I need to know anything at all about him, but in particular, any affiliations with groups, political or otherwise."

"You don't mean whether he follows Queen's Park Rangers or Arsenal, do you?"

Ruth smiled to herself, relieved that Ros' sense of humour was returning. "No. In particular, could you check the group calling themselves Britain For the British? It's said they're an extremist offshoot from the British National Party."

"Will do."

Ruth ended her call and then looked up into Harry's office to see he was still on the phone. She wasn't sure whether she should simply go home and wait for him to turn up, or wait until his call had ended. She chose to wait. Besides, it wasn't as though she had nothing to occupy her while she waited. She was behind in her translating, so she opened the program and carefully placed her headphones over her ears, pulling strands of her hair out of the way.

* * *

When Harry left his office with his coat over his arm, it was well after 7 o'clock. "You've worked enough for today," he said, leaning down to gain eye contact with Ruth, who was still busily translating. "We should go home."

"Sorry?" she said, removing her headphones, a slight frown puckering her brow.

"Home time."

Ruth stretched, arching her back and pushing her elbows behind her. Harry watched, fascinated, as she stretched her body, pushing her breasts into his line of vision. They were the only senior staff still on the Grid, Tariq having left earlier, mumbling something about having dinner with his parents. "Harry?" she said, when she looked up at him, sitting on the corner of her desk, a smile curving his lips.

"I love it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"That," he said, suddenly embarrassed, "where you stick out your chest."

"I don't do it for you," Ruth replied, suddenly standing, thus ending the `show'.

He knew that, of course. "I thought we might go back to mine," he said, helping Ruth with her coat, and then standing close to her, his hands lightly grasping her upper arms. Ruth nodded, and then reached down to pick up her bag. She needed an early night, but then so did he. She had become accustomed to spending her evenings with Harry. She no longer wanted to spend her nights at home alone. He was a loner, she was a loner, but together they were learning to find contentment in the company of the other.

Much later they were lying together in bed, waiting for sleep. Ruth's mind was tired, but her body wouldn't relax, while Harry's body was exhausted, but his brain refused to switch off.

"I'm worried about Ros," Ruth said, after they'd lain next to one another for ten minutes or so.

"Talk to me," Harry replied, because Ros was a subject which also concerned him. He turned on his side to watch Ruth. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, a frown drawing her eyebrows together. Sensing his scrutiny, she turned her head towards him.

"She's .. enjoying the work I've been giving her. When I sent her Terence Noakes' details, she messaged me back to thank me. Don't you think that's .. odd?"

Harry thought it odd that Ros had messaged thanks to Ruth, but not that she was enjoying the work. Ros enjoyed working just as much as did he. "That doesn't sound like Ros, no," he said. "What is it exactly which worries you?"

Ruth turned on her side to face him, so that they each lay facing the other. Harry smiled as she tucked both hands under her cheek. "She seems on a high - for Ros, that is - and I'm worried about when she returns to work and has to be confined to the Grid. She'll not handle that well."

"I have every intention of her again filling the shoes of Section Chief. She'll not be needed in the field, so she'll not miss it. I'll need her beside me just as much as I need you."

"Careful, Harry. Ros and I may just cut out the middle man."

"Meaning me?"

Ruth nodded, smiling. "She and I could run the section on our own."

"I'm sure you could," he said quietly, wondering how seriously Ruth was taking the subject. He lifted himself onto one elbow and gazed down at her. "You're not serious about taking over the section … are you?"

"Are you worried?"

"Of course not. You enjoy analysis too much. Management would send you bonkers."

"I know. I'm worried what will happen when Ros realises that she'll never again be the spy she once was."

Harry nodded. "Perhaps she'll become a different kind of spy .. a better spy, but even if she does, it's likely she'll experience a crisis .. if not soon, then in the next few years. There will always be the potential for her to come crashing down."

Ruth thought for a moment before turning her body so that her back faced Harry. She didn't want to talk about it any more. She knew that he could well have been talking about her. She still hadn't `come crashing down' from the shock of losing George and Nico and Jo, and perhaps that was equally as inevitable for her as it was for Ros.

"Are you all right, Ruth?"

Ruth nodded. So long as she told herself she was, then she would be. "Curl up against me," she said, and he did, wrapping his arm around her waist. Harry could read her well. The conversation was definitely over.

* * *

By the time Ruth and Harry had both entered a state of deep sleep, across town Ros Myers was busy. Athol Keating, travelling as Matthew Carstairs, had boarded a late flight to London, and so she had an open tab on the BBC news website, waiting for confirmation of Nicholas Blake's demise. She had no vision for Baghdad, but she was scanning the news services for any developments in Iraq.

* * *

Next morning – 10 am:

Harry had called Ruth and Lucas into his office, since apart from Tariq, they were the only senior members of his staff on the Grid. He was sitting back in his chair, one ankle resting on his other knee, his eyes on the TV monitor, when Ruth and Lucas entered the office together.

"What do you think about this?" Harry said, not taking his eyes from the screen.

The BBC news announcer was part way through a story from Iraq. It was clear there had been a sudden death of a prominent member of the Council of Ministers. "The Prime Minister?" Ruth asked, her eyes on the screen.

Another news story had just begun, so Harry quickly muted the TV. "Nothing quite so dramatic," he said, turning to face both Ruth and Lucas. "Take a seat," he added, pointing to the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk. "The official story is that the Minister of Defence, Avi Shabout, died suddenly in the early hours of this morning from a heart attack."

"And?" Lucas said, not seeing the connection or the relevance.

"Yesterday I spoke to a contact of mine currently stationed in Iraq," Harry continued. "He was predicting that Avi Shabout could meet a sticky end, and soon. The man was a moderate, but he did not support the continued presence of US troops and their allies in Iraq."

"So he upset the CIA. Why didn't _they_ kill him?" asked Lucas. He had only a limited understanding of the political situation in Iraq.

Ruth shook her head just fractionally as she looked across the desk to where Harry was watching her, his lips protruding in concentration. "The CIA will only perform such an act if they can't find someone else to do it," he said.

"What will Cox get out of it?" Lucas asked.

"If he's behind it, and we don't know that for certain," Ruth picked up the story, since she and Harry had discussed the possibility on the way to work that morning. "It just looks that way. We may never know, given the official story being that the man died from a heart attack."

"He probably owes a favour or two," Harry said, not even bothering to hide his disgust. "Leighton has made an art form out of upsetting the Americans. He's sure to owe them for something or other."

The ringtone of a phone had the three of them searching for the offending phone. "It's mine," Ruth said apologetically. "It's Ros."

"I'll leave you to it, then," said Lucas, and he quickly left the office so that Ruth could take her call in relative privacy.

"Yes?" Ruth said into the phone once Lucas had left.

Harry watched her as she listened to her caller. He loved the way her face became animated when all she was doing was listening to Ros. Her eyes sparkled and the fingers of her free hand found their way to the ends of her hair, which she curled round and around one finger. He lost himself in watching her, enthralled by her sharp and incisive and receptive mind, while at the same time her body was performing a slow dance of its own. "Harry?" she said, snapping him out of his reverie. "Are you all right? You look .. strange."

Harry sat up straight. "I'm fine. What's the news?"

"Ros has hacked into the communications system of the Tayside Police."

This time Harry really sat up, and leaned forward, his hands on the arms of his chair. Ros? _Hacking_? Is anyone in the world safe from her? " _Seriously_?"

"Seriously. I believe she's been having late night tuition from Tariq via phone. This morning at just after 8 am Blake's housekeeper found his body slumped in a chair at his family home an hour's drive north of Dundee. An autopsy is yet to be performed, but the medical officer on duty suspects he died of a heart attack." Harry sat back in his chair and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. He sighed heavily. "What's wrong?" Ruth asked.

He dropped his eyes to look at her. "I thought the news would make me happy .. that I'd feel vindicated on Ros' behalf," he replied quietly. "All I feel is anger."

"Ros will be all right, Harry. She's found a new niche for herself, and it's all thanks to you."

"And to you," he added.

"At least she's still alive."

Harry nodded. That was the important part of all. Ros was still with them.

* * *

 _ **A/N: The final chapter of this fic will be posted a couple days after Xmas.** _


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N : This is the final chapter. Thank you to all who continued to read this story, and especially to reviewers.**_

* * *

10 weeks later - early morning:

Ruth slowly opened her eyes. She experienced a moment of disorientation while she emerged from deep sleep. The window was on the wrong wall, or perhaps during the night the bed had moved. Then she noticed that the window was covered by a blind rather than curtains. She turned her head to see she was in bed alone.

Adam's flat. She couldn't imagine a day some time in the future when she would think of it as her flat. Hers and Harry's. She was living there because Adam had died. Somewhere within her most private of thoughts the flat would remain forever Adam's flat. Adam's and Wes'.

Ruth rolled onto her back and stretched. Through the open doorway she could smell breakfast – bacon, definitely, and eggs, with toast freshly buttered. Bless him. Harry had an early meeting scheduled, but still he made breakfast for them both, as he did most mornings. Ruth closed her eyes and pressed her spine into the mattress. Harry had bought a new bed for the flat. The bed was large and luxurious, and she had never slept better. He had splashed out on new furniture throughout. "This can be a new start for us both," he'd said, and despite her offers to contribute towards the cost of furnishing the flat, he had gone ahead and paid for the lot himself, the gesture having appeared to give him pleasure.

Ruth had been living in the flat for a little over three weeks, and for most of that time Harry had lived there with her. Over time he'd ferried his personal possessions from his house to the flat. It was a gradual process, one which felt quite organic, and Ruth was not about to interfere with something which seemed so right. To the surprise of them both, their life together was simple and calm and altogether pleasant. They `fitted' – his sense of order with her requirement for occasional spontaneity and moments of chaos; his intensity with her heightened sensitivity; his solid strength with her vulnerability.

There had only been one hiccup so far, although it had been not so much a hiccup as a necessary bump in the road. Ruth had only just moved into the flat when Harry had had to fly to Washington DC for five days, Monday to Friday. Although they spoke on the phone each day, usually late in the evening in Washington, by Tuesday morning Ruth had begun to sink into a morass of confused feelings, chiefly those of pain and guilt and shame. She'd worked all of Tuesday, but had hurried home early to ring Harry. Once her call to him had ended, she'd lain on their bed and allowed herself to fall apart. She'd sobbed and cried, even under the shower, and had crawled into bed without eating dinner, her stomach churning with a turmoil of emotions she couldn't name. On Wednesday and Thursday she'd taken two sick days, claiming she had a tummy bug. For two whole days she'd cried – for Adam and Fiona, for Wes and Jo. Then she cried for Nico, and how angry he must still be feeling towards her. She cried for the loss of George, and she cried for Harry, whose decision had effectively sentenced George to death. Last of all, on Thursday evening, she cried for herself. By the time Harry had rung her later that same evening, which was the early hours of Friday in DC, Ruth could do little more than listen to his voice, a balm for her battered emotions.

When he arrived home on the Friday it was well past 10 pm, and Ruth could cry no more. He'd found her stretched out in a bath full of lukewarm water, her face pale and her eyes closed as her head rested against the end of the bath, her face turned towards the wall. Harry had spoken her name sharply, the tone of his voice charged with underlying panic. He'd leaned down and grasped her shoulders in both hands. Ruth had opened her eyes and smiled back. "Jesus, Ruth, I thought you were .."

"I was relaxing," she'd replied, frowning a little. "It's been a difficult week."

"Sorry," Harry had said, letting go of her and standing to grab her towel, handing it to her once she'd stood up, water streaming down her skin in rivulets. Ruth had noticed how his eyes raked over her body, but then he'd turned away, about to leave the bathroom.

"Don't go, Harry," she'd said. "Help me out of the bath."

So he'd stayed, grasping her hand to steady her while she stepped out of the water, and then taking a spare towel, helping to dry her. There had been so much they'd each wanted to say that they'd said very little to one another. His fear for her and her exhaustion had in that moment been uncomfortable companions.

That night they'd lain under the duvet while Ruth told him everything. "Thank you," was all he said once she'd finished talking, before he'd put his arms around her, drawing her against him. "It's time we both slept," he'd added. And so they had. Ruth had had her crisis. At the time it had been harrowing, but with Harry home she felt safe once more in their very own safe house.

She heard a noise from the doorway, so she turned to see Harry standing just inside the room. He was already dressed in trousers, shirt and tie, over which he wore a Harrod's apron emblazoned with the words `God Save The Queen'. Ruth smiled at him.

"I have to leave soon. The Permanent Secretary is unforgiving of tardiness."

"Come here," she said, reaching out to him.

Harry very slowly approached the bed, sitting down next to her. "I came in to tell you your breakfast is ready," but he seemed not to mind all that much when Ruth drew his face close so she could kiss him. "Don't tempt me, Ruth. I hate meetings with the Permanent Secretary. I find her .. intimidating."

Ruth allowed him to sit up. "Petra Woodward is a force of nature, Harry, and she's quite aware that she intimidates you. I'm sure she enjoys it."

"She reminds me of my grandmother," he said sulkily, his lips in full pout.

"Do you remember what today is?" Ruth asked.

Harry nodded. "It's Ros's first day."

"She's due on the Grid at 10 o'clock. Lucas has offered to pick her up and bring her to work. I imagine she'll be nervous."

"Hopefully we can keep her busy."

Ruth moved to get out of bed, so Harry stood. "Now, you need to get out of here, Harry. I'm only human, you know."

He leaned down to kiss her once more, this time grasping her waist with his hands, and then he dropped his hands and turned towards the door. "Pray for me, Ruth," he said, as he turned to catch another glimpse of her before leaving.

"Just imagine Petra naked." The look of horror on Harry's face had Ruth grinning widely. "And don't forget to take off that apron. Petra will think you're referring to her. I hear she's aspirational."

By the time Ruth had stepped from the shower Harry had left, and the flat was quiet once more. He'd only been gone five minutes and already she missed him. As she sat on a stool at the breakfast bar tucking into her breakfast, Ruth decided that it was a really nice flat, and that she was glad that Harry had encouraged her to move in. When he'd first run the idea past her she'd felt little other than guilt – about living in a flat occupied by the ghosts of the dead – along with hope that she and Harry were strong enough together to exorcise these ghosts. What she hadn't expected was that she'd enjoy living in Adam's old flat, and that she savoured the memory of Adam and Wes having lived there. There was ample room for them all – the ghosts as well as the living.

* * *

At five minutes to 10 o'clock Harry stepped on to the Grid, seeking out Ruth with his eyes, and then quickly breaking eye contact before he turned towards his office. Ten minutes later Ruth heard a murmuring as once more the glass doors parted to reveal Ros Myers, closely followed by Lucas North. Ros walked unaided, but her walk was careful and uneven. The multiple breaks in her legs had healed, but her muscles still had to adapt to the changes throughout her whole body. Ros still had regular physiotherapy sessions, and still hated every minute of what she referred to as `torture'.

Ros looked around the Grid, and noticing Ruth watching her she nodded slightly in her direction, while Ruth returned her acknowledgement with a smile. In the previous two and a half months they had grown to value and respect one another. Suddenly people came from all directions – Harry from his office, Tariq from the technology suite, and from the kitchen Dimitri wandered, a man-sized cup of coffee in his hand. Three of the admin girls began to approach Ros, but stopped at the last minute.

"It's wonderful to have you back, Ros," Harry said, reaching out to shake her hand, grasping her slim hand in both of his, and holding it for a little longer than necessary.

Seeing Tariq hurrying towards her, Ros took a wary step back. "Go easy," she said. "I'm delicate."

Tariq stopped just short of touching her and began to reach out as if to hug her, but thought better of it. "I've missed you," was all the young techie was able to say.

"And I you, Tariq. My day is now complete." Her accompanying smile appeared heartfelt.

Ros looked behind Tariq to see Dimitri hovering, an embarrassed grin on his face. "I thought you'd never come back. I'm using your mug," he said, lifting his coffee mug so that Ros could see it.

"I bequeath it to you, Dimitri. You always were a better man than me."

With her words Dimitri's face relaxed. "Thanks. That's .. generous of you. I'm glad you're not..." and thinking better of where he'd been going with that thought, he changed tack. "It's so good to have you back, Ros."

"And it's good to be here," Ros replied with a small smile just for Dimitri.

Other than Lucas, whose hand rested on her back, the only person so far to have touched Ros had been Harry. Ruth watched as Harry spoke quietly to Ros, who then turned towards his office. As she passed Harry he tipped his head to Ruth, a gesture which meant, _My office .. now_. "Show's over," he announced gruffly to the rest of the Grid. "Ros is back, but she's here to work, as you all need to be."

And with Harry's words, everyone dispersed – back to their respective work stations. Ruth rose from her chair to head towards Harry's office. She felt a moment of sadness that Ros's return had been so low key, but then Ros had never been a balloons and streamers kind of girl. What was she thinking? In all probability Ros had never been a girl. She'd been hewn from ice and stone some time in the early 1970's, and then bequeathed to her family for safe keeping. She was sharp and powerful and seemingly indestructible; even falling masonry and metal had not stopped her.

Inside Harry's office Ros sat in one chair while Ruth settled on the chair next to her. Lucas stood to the side, leaning his shoulder against the office wall, while Harry sat behind his desk. "Are you ready to work?" he asked Ros.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she replied. "I dug up all that information on Terry Noakes, and now he and four more of his kind are on remand." She looked up at Lucas apologetically. "Although it was Lucas and Dimitri who did the leg work. What I did was the easy bit."

"Had you not discovered his web of electronic contacts, Ros," Ruth said, "we'd still be viewing him as an annoying presence on the Wandsworth estate."

"The little shite'd be an annoying presence wherever he was. He has contacts from Aberdeen to Plymouth, and Cardiff to Nottingham, and that's not even mentioning his contacts overseas. It appears he'd been spending all day and half the night online, building his own little web of degenerates."

Harry had been sitting back in his chair, observing the exchange. His team was now complete. He took a deep breath and sighed. Ruth heard the sound – one familiar to her ears – and gave him a quick, reassuring smile.

"It was his big mouth which gave him away," added Lucas quietly. "Had he kept his mouth shut, we'd still be none the wiser."

Ros quickly glanced up at Lucas, then across the desk to Harry. "I think I know who is the .. er .. king pin of this little gang of ne'er-do-wells," she said. "His name keeps coming up in Noakes' emails, and Tariq has also isolated this person as someone who appears overly invested in there being a white Anglo majority in this country."

"Isn't it a bit late for that?" Harry asked.

"Not when you're the husband of the Permanent Secretary," Ros replied. "You did know Petra Woodward had a husband, didn't you?"

"I'd heard the rumour, although I've not set eyes on the man," Harry replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach.

"I've heard that Adrian Woodward spends most of the year in various places outside Britain," Ruth added, "chiefly to avoid casting a dark shadow over his wife's career. Despite that, they are very much together."

Harry again sat up, leaning his forearms on his desk. "That looks like being your next project, Ros," he said. "We need to know how and from where this group is funded, but tread carefully. I have an appointment with Ms Woodward later this week, so you might like to join me."

Ruth recognised Harry's suggestion as Ros' first task as his Section Chief. Besides, while Petra Woodward intimidated Harry, Ros would be intimidated by no-one. Ruth smiled to herself. Oh to be a fly on the wall at that meeting.

* * *

Ros' first day back flew by, and at 4 pm she quietly left, a taxi waiting at the doors of Thames House to spirit her home. It was just after 6 o'clock when Ruth's mobile phone vibrated on the surface of her desk. She picked it up without checking the caller; she already knew who it was.

"Go home, Ruth. You've done enough for one day." Harry's voice was deep, almost seductive.

"I just have this -"

"Ruth .. _please_ .. if you won't do this for yourself, then do it for me."

"That's a bit low, Harry. It's been a while since you've resorted to emotional blackmail."

"What if I drive you home?"

"Only if you then stay home .. with me. We'll pick up some food on the way home, and we'll eat it together, and then we'll have an early night."

Ruth had been watching Harry. He'd been slouched over his desk, determined to not give her eye contact. At the words, `early night' he sat up straight and looked right at her. She smiled her sweetest smile. "Do you mean that?" he asked, and she knew he didn't believe her.

"Then you get to choose what we do … after dinner." As if she didn't know what he'd choose.

Harry's face changed from disbelief to his broadest smile. "Then what are we waiting for?" he said. He knew he'd been played by Ruth, but he didn't care. "I love playing Scrabble with you." He heard Ruth's throaty laugh over the phone, but even from the distance of his office he could see the flush rise from her neck to her cheeks. Scrabble was their own private code for a much more intimate activity than board games.

"So," she added, "we're celebrating Ros' first day back?"

"While we're .. playing Scrabble I'll be thinking of no-one but you."

"I'll be ready in five minutes," Ruth replied.

And she was ready in less than four.

 _Fin_


End file.
